AS GOLD IN 
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It was hard ! It was a sore trial to g-ive up 
his dream of years ! — ^ 0 . 




“As Gold in the Furnace” 

I 

A COLLEGE STORY 

(Sequel to “SHADOWS UFTED”) 


By Rev. JOHN E. COPUS, S.J. 

Author of ** Harry Russell/* **The Son of Siro/* etc. 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

PRINTERS TO THE I PUBLISHERS OF 

HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE I BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 

1910 




Copyright, 1910, by Benziger Brothers. 



©CI,A2758i6 


CONTENTS 


Chapter I page 

Roy Surprises His Friends 7 

Chapter II 

The Motive 13 

Chapter III 

The Conditions 19 

Chapter IV 

Roy and Garrett 25 

Chapter V 

A Pitching Cage 30 

Chapter VI 

Advice 38 

Chapter VII 

The Little Sisters 45 

Chapter VIII 

Something Happens 56 

Chapter IX 

Who? 64 

Chapter X 

A Day’s Adventure 72 

Chapter XI 

An Afternoon’s Fun 82 

Chapter XII 

Reports 90 

Chapter XIII 

What Henning Remembered 96 

5 


6 


CONTENTS 


Chapter XIV page 

Facing the Boys 104 

Chapter XV 

Suspicions m 

Chapter XVI 

Roy Makes a Move 119 

Chapter XVII 

Garrett is Angry 129 

Chapter XVIII 

A Talk 135 

Chapter XIX 

The Unexpected 142 

Chapter XX 

The Fairest Lily 149 

Chapter XXI 

The Passing of Ethel 157 

Chapter XXII 

Roy and His Father 163 

Chapter XXIII 

The Great Blow . 170 

Chapter XXIV 

The Fallen Tree 177 

Chapter XXV 

Surprises for Roy 185 

Chapter XXVI 

Stockley^s Story 193 

Chapter XXVII 

Stockley^s Story {Continued) 201 

Chapter XXVIII 

The Unraveled Tangle 206 


^‘AS GOLD IN THE FURNACE 


CHAPTER I 

Roy Surprises His Friends 

TELL you what it is, gentlemen, once for all. I 
1 can not go in for baseball next spring, nor even 
for the few games we have still to play this 

fall.” 

Roy Henning was talking to a group of college 
boys of the upper classes in St. Cuthbert’s yard. It 
was late September and still very warm. The little 
gathering of friends found the shade of a large elm 
tree in one corner of the yard very grateful. A 
hearty burst of laughter followed Roy's announce- 
ment. No one for an instant entertained the idea 
that Henning was in earnest and meant what he 
said. Was he not passionately fond of the game? 
Had he not, before vacation, been the very best 
player on the college diamond ? 

‘'Oh! of course not! of course not!” exclaimed 
Jack Beecham, Roy's truest friend and constant 
companion. “Of course not! You're no good any- 
way! You couldn't be center-rush on the eleven if 
you tried! You don't know a thing about baseball 
either I Oh ! no ! And another team wouldn't do a 
thing to us if you left the pitcher’s box! Oh! no, 
not at all !” 

“Look here. Jack,” said Henning, “Fm in earnest. 
I am not going to engage in sports at all this year.” 

7 


8 


ROY SURPRISES HIS FRIENDS 


‘‘Not for the money, I know that. It has always 
cost you a good penny. But let me assure you, you 
dear old goose, that you can’t come any sort of game 
like that on us — not on me, at least. Let me tell 
you, Roy boy, that you are most decidedly and most 
strictly in it, and in it every time.” 

“Look here. Jack, will you listen to reason ” 

began Roy Henning. 

“With pleasure, when I find evidence that you are 
in possession of that valuable commodity.” 

“But ” began Roy again. 

“That’s all right, old fellow. We know your 
modesty, and all that. We’re also under the im- 
pression that you have recently developed a remark- 
able penchant — that’s the word, isn’t it, boys — for 
practical jokes. But this time be so condescending 
as to remember that joke-day — April i, you know 

— is a long way off. See?” 

“Yes, I see,” replied Henning, “but you fellows 
will not, nor will you listen to reason. So it is 
useless for me to talk.” 

“That’s precisely what we wish to do,” said Jack 

— laughing Jack Beecham — who struck an attitude 
and continued, “but you persist in talking anything 
but reason. What an incontestably preposterous 
thing for you to say that you are not going to play 
ball. Is a fish going to swim ?” 

“Nonsense or not, boys, I have good reason for 
saying what I have said. It’s a fact. I am not 
going to play.” 

Roy Henning’s clean-cut, handsome face was 
flushed at the moment with vexation. His eyes 
showed his annoyance, and his brows contracted in 
displeasure. It was vexatious enough for him to 
make — to be compelled to make — such an an- 
nouncement to his friends, but his chagrin was 


ROY SURPRISES HIS FRIENDS 


9 


rendered four-fold by having his companions receive 
his statement with incredulity. Not the least part 
of his annoyance came from the fact that his own 
particular friend should affect to believe that he was 
perpetrating a practical joke, especially as he was 
very much in earnest and the announcement had cost 
him much effort to make. 

When Roy Henning first came to St. Cuthbert’s, 
he was a narrow-chested, weakly boy of very quiet 
manners and of a retiring disposition, as the readers 
of the chronicles of St. Cuthbert boys may remember. 

Month after month, however, saw him growing 
stronger and taller and more robust, until now, in 
his last year at college, he was one of the biggest 
boys in the yard, with the strength of a giant, and, 
as some who knew declared, the grip of a blacksmith. 
The opportunities of acquiring brawn and muscle 
he had not neglected, resulting in a proficiency in 
running, jumping, swimming, and boating, and in 
all the manly and invigorating exercises of school 
life. 

He was well aware how much the success of next 
summer’s baseball season really depended on him. 
He knew, also, what the boys expected of him. They 
all regarded it as a foregone conclusion that he would 
again be the captain and the principal pitcher on 
next season’s team. 

No one but himself knew what annoyance it had 
been to him to make the statement which his hearers 
had refused to accept otherwise than as the merest 
joking. Yet he intended to give up sports for this 
school year. Why? The reason for so doing, and 
all the consequences that such a course of action 
brought in its train, will constitute the following 
narrative. 

Roy’s eyes, quick to sparkle in fun, quick to soften 


lO ROY SURPRISES HIS FRIENDS 

in sympathy, yet quicker to glitter with indignation 
at any exhibition of smallness or meanness, just now 
had a look in them other than was their wont. Their 
owner was annoyed because the boys standing 
around him seemed determined not to take him 
seriously, and this annoyance could be seen. For 
a moment he felt a strong throb of anger, such as 
quickens the pulse, and the hasty word was on the 
tip of his tongue, but he checked himself in time. 
Why should he not be believed when he had made 
a plain statement and had reiterated it? Yet there 
was a smile as of incredulity on nearly all the faces 
grouped around him. 

The truth of the matter was that Jack Beecham 
and his companions were hoping against hope. They 
clearly saw Henning^s annoyance, and several of 
them had more than a suspicion that, after all, he 
meant exactly what he had said. Beecham’s 
badinage was only a cover for his uneasiness. 

A silence fell on the group, during which, to their 
nimble imaginations, visions of future victories on 
the diamond grew dim, for every boy there had the 
most unlimited confidence in the proven prowess of 
Henning to lead them to victory. 

‘‘But, Roy,” said Tom Shealey, a short, thick-set, 
sturdy, whole-souled boy, who had a habit of calling 
a spade a spade: “Give us your reason. You are 
not sick ?” 

“No, not sick, certainly,” said Henning, smiling 
at such an idea. 

“What’s your reason, then? — supposing you have 
a reason and are not joking.” 

“I’m not joking, Tom,” said Henning, “but I 
can not give you my reason.” 

“Guess he has none,” said Andrew Garrett, a 
youth who affected a blue sweater instead of a coat 


ROY SURPRISES HIS FRIENDS 


II 


and vest and whose face was not a healthy-looking 
one. ‘‘Guess he has no reason. He's merely posing.” 

The remark vexed Henning all the more that it 
came from his own cousin, to whom in a difficult 
situation he might have looked naturally for some 
form of support. 

“Stop that, Garrett,” said Tom Shealey, hotly. 
“Do you wish to insult your own cousin ? I’d rather 
believe him than you — there ! If Roy says he has 
reasons for acting as he is doing and does not want 
to give them to us, I believe he has them anyway. 
I guess you don’t know your own cousin as well 
as we do.” 

“Well, why doesn’t he give his reasons for not 
playing?” asked Garrett, sulkily. 

“Because,” answered Henning, with no little 
natural dignity, “I do not feel at liberty to do so. 
If I did I would give them readily. Believe me, 
boys, it is not by my own choice that I resign my 
position on the baseball and football teams.” 

“We believe you, Roy,” said Shealey. “Although 
we regret your action, we believe you have good 
reasons ; don’t we, Beecham ?” 

Jack Beecham nodded affirmatively. “Yes,” he 
replied, after a moment’s silence, “I joked at first 
only because I thought Roy was joking. Sorry he 
wasn’t. Garrett, you had better believe what your 
cousin says. He is not accustomed to lie into or 
out of a thing.” 

This remark was received by Garrett in silence. 
With a look unpleasant enough to be considered a 
leer on his face he walked away, but Shealey’s 
innuendo, as we shall see later, had more significance 
for the one to whom it was directed than the rest 
of the group realized. Were it not on account of 
the relationship with Roy, the boys in general would 


12 


ROY SURPRISES HIS FRIENDS 


have ignored Garrett. Winters and Hunter and 
Stapleton and Clavering were gone from St. Cuth- 
bert’s, having graduated the previous year. Henning 
and Ambrose Bracebridge, Rob Jones and Tom 
Shealey were taking their places, and among these 
Henning was most popular. 

In a few minutes Henning walked away, and his 
friends began freely to discuss his decision, vaguely 
guessing at the motive which prompted it, and 
entirely unsuccessful in arriving at any solution of 
the difficulty. 

‘‘Of course,” said Jack Beecham to Shealey, as 
they strolled about the yard somewhat disconsolately, 
“Henning must have some good reason for backing 
out, but I am more sorry than I can say that he has 
done so. I am afraid things are going to be mighty 
unpleasant for him in consequence.” 

“I, too, am afraid they will be.” 

“Well, I’m going to stick to him, come what may.” 

“Same here,” replied Shealey. “It won’t be hard 
to do that, because he is the soul of honor and a 
royal good fellow. You might as soon expect any- 
thing wrong with him as — as to see ” 

“You at the head of your class in next examina- 
tion,” interrupted Jack. 

“Thanks! Or to see you heading the philo- 
sophers.” 

“Thanks, too.** 


CHAPTER II 


The Motive 

B efore proceeding to narrate the complications 
which beset Roy Henning’s path during his last 
year at St. Cuthbert’s, and the many curious 
cross-purposes of which he may be said to have been 
the victim, we shall endeavor to give some idea of 
the motive which actuated him in retiring from the 
arena of college sports. 

It must be remembered that Roy Henning, in the 
previous year, was a fast friend of Claude Winters, 
Hunter, Selby, Clavering, and Stapleton. The com- 
panionship of these boys had helped as much to form 
his character as had the careful work of the pro- 
fessors. Under his friends’ influence he had grad- 
ually lost much of his bashfulness. By the time 
that Winters and his other friends had graduated, 
he could conduct himself with an amount of ease 
and composure. He no longer blushed and squirmed 
immoderately, like a small boy, when addressed by 
a stranger or by one in authority. He could now 
speak to a Father or even the President without 
wishing to fall through the floor. Roy was much 
improved, yet the influence which his companions 
of the previous year had exercised over him had 
taken a somewhat peculiar turn. 

As far as he knew, not one of his last year’s 
friends, now graduated and gone, had any aspira- 
tions to study for the sacred ministry of the priest- 
hood. Their joyous piety, nevertheless, and their 
cheerful goodness had been the means, entirely 
13 


I4J 


THE MOTIVE 


unknown to themselves, of making Henning enter- 
tain a profound veneration for the ecclesiastical state. 

From often contemplating how eminently suited, 
both in talents and in virtue, were many of his 
companions for this state, Roy had passed from 
admiring them to the thought of the feasibility of 
embracing that state himself. The more he thought 
of this, and the more frequently he examined him- 
self, the more enamored of the lofty idea he became ; 
so that at the expiration of the previous year’s term 
he had fully made up his mind to enter the priest- 
hood should he secure the sanction of his spiritual 
director. 

Before he left college for vacation he had a long 
interview with the white-haired, holy old chaplain, 
from which he received great encouragement, but 
was told to keep his intention a secret from all save 
his parents. He took the admonition literally and 
obeyed it exactly, so that he left St. Cuthbert’s in 
the previous June without his most intimate ac- 
quaintances so much as dreaming that he entertained 
such exalted ambitions and aspirations to a dignity 
than which there is none greater on earth. 

It was not remarkable that his companions should 
never imagine such things of him. Was he not the 
recognized leader of all sports and games? Who 
had a merrier shout? No one’s laugh rang more 
musically across the playground. How should boys 
— mere boys, after all — imagine that graver 
thoughts and sublimer ambitions were coexistent 
with merry pranks, resounding cheers, or harmless 
escapades. Well, boys, college boys even, are gifted 
with only a limited prescience, and none suspected the 
great plan of life which was now continually in 
Roy’s mind. 

He did not broach the subject to his father until 


THE MOTIVE 


15 


the vacation months were drawing to a close, and 
it was time to think about returning to St. Cuth- 
bert’s. The Hennings spent the summer months in 
the lake region. One beautiful calm, warm evening 
in August, Mr. Henning was sitting on the broad 
veranda of his cottage, watching in quiet content 
the silver pathway which the full moon made across 
the water, and marveling how the light made the 
sails of the yachts appear now black, now silver as 
the vessels tacked about. Roy, who for several days 
had been watching his opportunity to have a private 
talk with his father, saw that it had now come. He 
took a seat near his father. 

^‘Where are Mama and the children, Roy?’^ 

‘They are down on the beach. Father, throwing 
sticks into the lake for Fido to swim after. The 
dog is almost crazy with the delight of the game.” 

“Why are you not down there too? You seem 
to be moping lately, my boy. Is anything the matter ? 
Are you quite well ?” 

“Quite, thanks. I am not moping, but the fact 
is. Father, I have something I wish to talk to you 
about, and as the rest won’t be back for some time, 
perhaps this is a good opportunity to tell you what 
I have to say.” 

“Dear me! what a lot of mystery! Say on, son. 
I am all attention. Let me see : how old are you ? 
Nineteen next month, eh? You’ll be graduated next 
year at St. Cuthbert’s, will you not ?” 

“I hope so,” replied the boy modestly. 

“That’s right. Well, I suppose you want to talk 
about the choice of a profession. It is quite time 
you made a choice, you know.” 

“That is precisely what I wish to speak about.” 

“Ah! Well, go on. I am willing to listen to 
your ideas, reserving, of course, the right of veto. 


i6 


THE MOTIVE 


Is it to be the law, or medicine, or the army? 
Perhaps ’tis the navy? I have influence enough to 
get you into Annapolis, if you wish to follow the 
sea.” 

‘It is none of these you have mentioned, sir,” said 
Roy, nervously, and the next moment he blurted out 
awkwardly, “I want to enter the priesthood !” 

“The priesthood!” said Henning senior, with 
an intonation that expressed various emotions. 
“H — um !” And he remained a long time silent. 

The light from the sitting-room fell on Mr. Hen- 
ning’s face. Roy watched the florid features of his 
father. His closely-cropped white hair and side- 
whiskers worn in the style once designated “mutton- 
chop,” the short-trimmed mustache, and clean- 
shaven, well-rounded chin, all showed distinctly in 
the strong light of the reading lamp, which sent a 
flood of light out across the veranda. Roy thought 
that his father’s face was unusually flushed. It 
appeared almost purple in the artificial light, and the 
son became anxious, momentarily fearing that the 
suddenly communicated intelligence might have 
caused a rush of blood to the head. The family 
physician not long before had told Mrs. Henning 
that her husband was quite liable to an attack of 
apoplexy. 

Roy could not guess what was passing within the 
mind of his father, who remained silent a long time. 
Nothing was heard except the nervous tapping of 
Mr. Henning’s eyeglasses on the arm of the rocker. 

The boy knew that his father was irascible, and 
he was more or less prepared for a storm. He waited 
for what he thought several minutes — in reality 
less than forty seconds — for his father to speak. 
No sound was heard save the nervous tap-tap- 
tapping on the arm of the chair. Roy twirled his 


THE MOTIVE 


17 


cap and shifted his weight from one foot to another. 

Then, as it often does, the unexpected occurred. 
Mr. Henning arose from his chair, and without 
noticing his son, or saying a word, retired into the 
house, leaving the surprised boy on the porch. 

The young man was perplexed at this turn of 
affairs. Had his father flatly refused he could have 
pleaded and coaxed. Had he stormed, the boy knew 
enough of his parent to be aware that the end he 
desired would most probably be attained — when 
the storm blew over. 

Roy left the porch in a dazed sort of way. He 
had never seen his father act so peculiarly. Wanting 
to be alone to think over the affair, he sauntered off 
to a secluded part of the large lawn. 

''Hi, Roy, is that you? Where have you been? 
I have been searching for you everywhere. Put on 
your dancing pumps and come over to our villa. We 
are going to have a carpet dance. All the tables and 
chairs have been put out on the lawn, and we are 
going to have a jolly time. Come on.” 

The speaker over the hedge was Andrew Garrett, 
fRoy’s cousin, whose father had rented the adjoining 
villa for the summer. Garrett was on the road, 
seated in a stylish dogcart. He held a pair of white 
ribbons over a mettlesome horse whose silverplated 
harness ornaments shone brightly in the moonlight. 

"You must make my excuses ” began Roy. 

"Eh! what? Oh! come! that won’t do. My 
sisters have netted a lot of girls, many of whom are 
already there, and the cry is 'still they come.’ We 
haven’t enough partners for them. I am not slow 
at this kind of affair, but, you know, a fellow can’t 
make himself ubiquitous. Run and put on your 
dancing-shoes, and if you spoil them in the dew 


i8 


THE MOTIVE 


coming home, I’ll buy you another pair to-morrow.” 

‘‘The puppy!” thought Roy, and the ugly word 
was on the tip of his tongue, but he checked himself 
in time, and said : 

“I am sorry indeed to disappoint you, but I have 
more important things to think about to-night. I 
really can not come. You must make my excuse to 
auntie and your sisters.” 

“Oh! hang it all, man; we haven’t enough 
dancers !” 

“I am sorry, but to-night ” 

“Sorry! ” We regret to say that Garrett 

used an expression not at all becoming to the lips 
of a Catholic young man. 

“You won’t come, then?” 

“I can not, to-night.” 

“You won’t, you mean!” 

“I did not say that.” 

“But you mean it. Well, I can go up the road 
and get the Meloche boys, and the Poultneys, and 
others. Mark my words, Roy; I’ll get even with 
you for this. You’ll be sorry for it yet. It’s a mean 
trick. Get up, Nance.” 

And he gave the mare a vicious cut, which sent 
her rearing and racing up the dusty country road, 
giving the ill-tempered boy all he could do to prevent 
the spirited animal from running away with him. 

A week later, Roy Henning was surprised to learn 
that Andrew Garrett was to be a student at St. Cuth- 
bert’s the coming term. His first effort at “getting 
even” with his cousin was attempted as we have seen 
in the preceding chapter, when Henning made the 
unwelcome announcement of his retirement from 
college sports. 


CHAPTER III 


The Conditions 

T he following morning, Mr. Henning called Roy 
to him soon after breakfast. When the two 
had taken seats under a shady beech on the 
lawn, Roy saw that his father appeared moody, and 
as if suffering from a great disappointment. 

‘‘What is this I hear about your refusing to go 
to your Aunt Garrett’s last night ?” 

“I did not refuse to go and see Aunt Helen, sir. 
Andrew wanted me to go and dance. I did not care 
to dance. Nor could I have gone and retained my 
self-respect.” 

“Dear me ! dear me ! Are not your Aunt Helen’s 
children and their friends good enough associates 
for you ?” 

“Quite good enough. But, sir, you mistake my 
meaning. I had two reasons for refusing. I do 
not care for dancing, and do not care to be made a 
mere convenience of, nor do I wish to be patronized 
by my cousin Garrett. My other reason was 
that I was anxious and worried, having received no 
word from you since I told you of my earnest desire 
to study for the priesthood.” 

“Ah ! Yes, to be sure. You may think my abrupt 
leaving you last night was a strange proceeding. It 
was. I am sorry I vexed you. I want to be kind.” 
“Thank you. Father; I am sure you do.” 

Mr. Henning was not a demonstratively affection- 
ate man, and it must be charged to heredity that his 
19 


20 


THE CONDITIONS 


own child possessed decidedly similar characteristics, 
especially in all absence of demonstrativeness. Roy 
loved his father deeply, but no terms of endearment 
or outward show of affection, so far as the boy 
could remember, had ever passed between them. If 
Roy had only known he could have crept very close 
to his father’s heart this morning. If Roy could 
have known just then, he would have seen his 
father’s heart sore and sensitive, trying to discipline 
itself into renouncing its life-long ambition — that 
of his son’s advancement. He had so earnestly 
wished the boy to adopt his own profession. Was 
he not already getting along in years? Would not 
a partner in his law practice become ere long an 
imperative necessity? 

He had too clear and too well-trained a mind not 
to see the futility of attempting to thwart the boy’s 
inclinations. He was too sincere a Catholic of prin- 
ciple and too well instructed in the obligations of his 
faith to wish effectually to prevent or destroy a 
vocation, and yet — oh, it was hard ! It was a sore 
trial to give up his dream of years ! 

“Thank you. Father; I am sure you wish to be 
kind.” 

Roy, seeing that his father had remained silent 
an unusually long time, repeated his remark. The 
elder man’s lips twitched. The muscles of his cheeks 
moved with the strong emotions he was ex- 
periencing. 

“Oh, Roy, Roy ! Think what it all means for me ! 
My shattered hopes for you! I know that as a 
Catholic I dare not thwart you in following so high 
a vocation, nor would I have it on my conscience 
to do so. But all my shattered hopes of you! I 
have wealth and position, but they are not every- 
thing. I have looked forward to you as my prop 


THE CONDITIONS 


21 


and stay and my honor in my declining years. Must 
you — must you leave us? Are you sure of this 
call ? Is it not a mere passing fancy, such as many 
good and pure boys have ? Are you sure that your 
duty does not point to your family rather than to 
the seminary ? Are you sure, my lad 

The old gentleman’s words were almost passion- 
ate. Young Henning was unwontedly affected. He 
had never been placed in so peculiar a position. His 
father evidently regarded him now, spoke to him, 
even appealed to him, as to a man, with a man’s 
responsibilities. For a moment he was thrilled with 
exquisite pleasure in being so treated, but he did not 
waver in his purpose. He knew that he would 
probably add to his father’s regrets, yet he was 
conscious that he could not hold out the faintest 
hope that the parental wish, which appeared to run 
contrary to what he now conceived to be his plain 
duty, would be gratified. 

“My dear father,” he said, “I am sorry to cause 
you pain, but I believe I have this vocation and I 
must, in conscience, follow it.” 

There was a long pause. 

“Well — what must be, must be, I suppose, but, 
my child, have you well considered the step? Are 
you willing to live on a meager pittance, as most 
priests do? Are you willing to lead a life of 
penurious denial and of study? Can you face the 
ordeal of the confessional for hours at a time, listen- 
ing to tales of misery, wretchedness, and degrada- 
tion? Can you be strong with the strong, and not 
too strong with the weak? Can you bear all this? 
Are you sure of yourself?” 

Now Roy Henning, during the previous year at 
St. Cuthbert’s had thought over the question of his 
vocation time and time again, examining himself 


22 


THE CONDITIONS 


rigorously as to his fitness, and, as far as his ex- 
perience allowed, reviewing the life of the ordinary 
parish priest. He saw clearly that no one embraced 
the priestly life from a purely natural motive. Such 
as did, he argued, must become failures, and unfit 
for their state. He had, as every one who has a true 
vocation, a higher motive than a merely natural one. 
With him the supernatural was paramount, and in 
its light all prosaic, squalid, unheroic circumstances 
sank into insignificance. He, therefore, answered : 

‘Wes, sir, I have thought it all over. I firmly 
believe I have a vocation, and after I graduate, I 
think it will be my duty to enter a seminary with a 
view to probing and testing it.” 

“I will not thwart you, my boy ; I dare not. But 
do you think yourself worthy of so high a calling ?” 

“I do not, indeed, Father; but my confessor 
encourages me to go on.” 

Mr. Henning sighed on discovering that the 
opinion of the boy’s confessor was averse to his 
wishes — sighed as if giving up his last hope of 
being able to change his son’s views. He then altered 
his manner suddenly, as if ashamed of having dis- 
played emotion before any member of his family. 
He was again the sharp, shrewd man of affairs. 

“Very well, sir,” he said, with a crispness in his 
voice which hitherto had been absent ; “you take your 
degree the coming year. After that you have my 
permission to enter a seminary. I will be responsible 
for your expenses until your ordination. As you 
desire, however, to enter a hard and self-denying life 
I consider it my duty to test you myself to some 
extent during the coming school year.” 

In the midst of the delight at his father’s capitu- 
lation, Roy looked up in surprise. He wondered 
what was coming next. 


THE CONDITIONS 


23 


‘'You must apply yourself wholly and solely to 
your studies. I shall allow you only twenty-five 
dollars for your private expenses, and I desire and 
insist that for the last year of your college life you 
relinquish all sports of whatsoever kind.” 

"Father!” cried the poor boy in dismay; and oh, 
the heart-sinking that was expressed in that one 
word ! 

"I mean . precisely what I say,” persisted Mr. 
Henning, almost relentlessly; "a priest’s life is one 
of constant self-sacrifice and denial. You can not 
begin to practise those virtues too soon.” 

"But, Father, I am captain of the ball nine, and 
the football eleven, at college!” And there was a 
world of appeal in the boy’s voice. 

"I am sorry, under the circumstances, to hear it. 
Abstinence from baseball and football and boating 
and all sorts of contests is the condition under which 
I sanction your plans, which, pardon me if I say it, 
I can not but consider chimerical. The test I have 
selected will prove how right or wrong I am in my 
opinion. You will take only enough exercise to 
keep a sound mind in a sound body.” 

Whether Roy Henning’s father was acting judi- 
ciously or otherwise, we will not undertake to say. 
We merely give the facts. Mr. Henning was 
desirous to see how his son would act under circum- 
stances which he readily admitted would be particu- 
larly trying. 

It is probable that many boys will be inclined to 
think that Roy Henning was not in such a very sad 
plight after all, and perhaps would be willing to 
exchange places with him if their pocketbooks were 
exchanged too. It is true that many a boy goes to 
college with far less spending money than that which 
was to be Roy’s share for his graduating year. It 


24 


THE CONDITIONS 


must be understood, in order to make Roy’s position 
clear, that the boy was generous to a fault, and never 
having stinted his expenditures at college, or been 
stinted in the supply, he was looked to for pecuniary 
assistance by all sorts of college associations whose 
financial condition, as most collegians are aware, is 
perennially in a state of collapse. He was one of 
the most popular boys, because his purse was always 
open. 

His father had, indeed, arranged a severe test for 
him. He little realized what the trials of a rich boy’s 
poverty were. Little did he imagine to what hours 
of guiltless ignominy he was unwittingly condemn- 
ing his son. We must do the lawyer the justice to 
say that had he imagined but one-tenth of the trials 
which were to come upon his son by his restrictive 
action, he would have been the last man to have 
imposed the conditions. 

Roy Henning accepted them unreservedly, and 
the conversation at the beginning of the first chapter 
shows us how fully and completely he intended to 
obey his father’s injunctions. 


CHAPTER IV 
Roy and Garrett 

H enning was not overwhelmingly delighted when 
he learned that Andrew Garrett was to accom- 
pany him to St. Cuthbert’s. He knew his 
cousin’s disposition fairly well and did not expect 
to derive much pleasure from his presence at college, 
although he was aware that the relationship would 
occasion more or less close intimacy. 

Never were two boys more dissimilar in character. 
Henning had been molded at St. Cuthbert’s for five 
or six years. He had imbibed that spirit which is 
found among the students of every well-conducted 
Catholic college — that peculiar something which is 
so difficult to define, but which is so palpable in its 
effects, elevating and rendering the Catholic student 
the comparatively superior being he is. Those who 
have intelligently watched this college phenomenon 
admit that the tone, or spirit, or influence, or what- 
ever it may be, is like nothing else on earth, so that 
if nothing else were accomplished, this result gives 
abundant reason for the existence of our Catholic 
colleges. If one were asked to define the exact 
process, to point out the various means employed, 
in transforming a crude youth into the manly, 
generous, self-possessed young man of high ideals 
and noble purpose, it would be found a most difficult 
thing to do. 

Roy Henning was a fair example of what Catholic 
training does for a well-disposed youth. He was 
not perfect, as we shall probably see later on in our 

25 


26 


ROY AND GARRETT 


story ; yet he had qualities that endeared him to all 
who knew him. Hating any appearance of mean- 
ness, he was ever the champion of the weak or the 
oppressed, as many a boy who was not the “under- 
dog” found to his cost. Hi§ cheerful, manly piety 
made religion attractive. There was nothing 
squeamish or mawkish about him. Everybody who 
knew him would laugh at the idea that Henning and 
effeminacy had the remotest connection. If the 
truth were told of him at this time he was, owing to 
his splendid health and sound physique, verging on 
the opposite of effeminacy. 

Under the tutelage of such boys as Hunter, 
Claude Winters, Clavering, and others, he had 
developed into a really fine athlete. The “muscles 
of his brawny arms were” literally “strong as iron 
bands,” and that one was certainly to be pitied who, 
if under Roy’s displeasure, came in close contact 
with him. 

Andrew Garrett was his cousin’s antithesis. He 
was about the same inches as Roy, who measured 
five feet ten inches in his stocking feet, but beyond 
this all resemblance ceased. Andrew was not an 
athlete. He was of spare build, but did not look 
healthy. His chest was narrow, his arms and legs 
spindling and flabby. He had no muscle, because he 
took little exercise, and was, consequently, frequently 
bilious, which often resulted in his saying or doing 
much meaner and pettier things than he intended. 
It would be difficult to find two more dissimilar 
characters than these two cousins. 

In justice to Andrew Garrett it must be stated that 
when he came with his cousin to St. Cuthbert’s he 
had not the slightest knowledge of the conditions 
under which Roy was laboring. Owing to what he 
had previously known of the state of Roy’s purse 


ROY AND GARRETT. 


27 


both at home and during vacation time, he had not 
the slightest suspicion that now his cousin’s pa- 
ternal allowance had been inconveniently curtailed. 
Whether he would have acted differently had he 
known all the circumstances is a matter of con- 
jecture. Garrett was a factor in much of the an- 
noyance Roy Henning suffered during the year. 

For several days after the arrival of Andrew 
Garrett, Mr. Shalford, the prefect, watched him 
closely. Being a cousin of Henning, the prefect 
thought it was natural that he would associate with 
the Henning-Bracebridge-Shealey-Beecham set, and 
be one of those to whom no particular attention need 
be given. He was not a little surprised to discover 
that these boys had very little to do with him. There 
was no overt act on their part by which Garrett 
could be said to have been snubbed or “dropped,” 
but the prefect saw that there seemed to be a tacit 
understanding among these boys to let Garrett 
severely alone. No one had any particular liking for 
him, and it is quite probable that had he not been 
Henning’s cousin, he would have experienced several 
times a very unpleasant quarter of an hour. 

Roy Henning was now one of the leaders among 
the forthcoming graduates. His influence was now 
as great as Hunter’s or Winter’s had been in the 
previous year, and his relationship with Garrett saved 
that boy much annoyance, which, by his want of 
tact and a lack of companionableness, he would have 
brought upon himself. 

“You do not seem to get along with the other 
boys, Garrett,” said Mr. Shalford kindly, one day 
not long after the conversation recorded in our first 
chapter. 

“I guess I can manage without them,” was the 
ungracious reply. 


28 


ROY AND GARRETT. 


‘‘I don’t think you can, my boy,” said Mr. Shalford. 

“Well, I do. I think I can manage my own 
affairs.” 

The prefect did not know whether this speech was 
intended as a rebuff to his advances, but he took a 
charitable view of it, and ascribed it to awkwardness, 
rather than to intentional boorishness. He said : 

“Let me tell you, Andrew, that you can do no 
such thing.” 

“Yes, I can.” 

“Look here, my young man. You are forgetting 
yourself. I do not know what sort of training you 
received at home, but while you are here, you must 
speak to your superiors with more respect. Prefects 
and professors and the other officers of the college 
are accustomed to be treated here with at least a 
certain amount of deference.” 

The boy winced under the allusion to his home 
training. He prided himself upon being a gentle- 
man, and, indeed, his home life was all that was 
delightful. As if he had read his thoughts, the 
prefect said : 

“Do you know the meaning of gentleman — a 
gentle man ? It is not necessarily an inherited quality 
of birth. It is rather a question of manners, is it 
not?” 

Garrett hung his head. He knew that he had 
been rude and uncouth. 

“Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to be ungentle- 
manly. But I do not like these boys here. They 
don’t seem to treat me squarely.” 

“Why? What is wrong?” asked the prefect, now 
satisfied. 

“Oh! I don’t exactly know. They all seem in- 
clined to let me alone. Nobody seems to want to 
have anything to say to me.” 


ROY AND GARRETT 


29 


“Perhaps that statement is not altogether exact. 
Have you not annoyed or vexed several of them one 
way or another ? Think now of what you may have 
done. If you want to get along with St. Cuthbert's 
boys, you will have to act honorably and above board 
in everything. Do not for a moment imagine that I 
am accusing you of anything underhand or mean. 
I am far from doing so. But boys are quick to dis- 
cern character — frequently quicker than men. It 
is a species of intuition with them, and they are 
rarely deceived. You have been here a month. Do 
you know of any nicknames among the boys ?” 

“Yes, sir; several of them. There is Shanks, and 
Owly, and Pinchey, or Pinchbeck, and a lot more 
of them.’’ 

“Just so. Now, do you not see that each of these 
boys to whom a nickname sticks has just the charac- 
teristic or foible the name indicates ?” 

“Yes, sir, that is true.” 

“I am glad you recognize it. You have not as yet 
developed or shown any particular trait which would 
give the boys an opportunity of attaching any partic- 
ular name to you. I should advise you to watch 
carefully, for, believe me, if they do give you a 
name, it will not be a pleasant one, and probably it 
will be one that will sting. At all events it will be 
one that will show to you your foibles pretty clearly. 
Watch yourself, therefore, and prevent it if you can.” 

With this warning the prefect left the boy and 
went to ring the great bell as first warning for 
supper. Garrett remained in a “brown study” for 
some time. Had he taken the prefect’s advice he 
might have saved himself many hours of subsequent 
regret and remorse. 


CHAPTER V 


A Pitching Cage 

J ACK Beech AM and Tom Shealey were standing 
at a window in their classroom one dark after- 
noon in the late fall. They had their heads 
together, for both were reading from the same 
letter, which the former had just received. They 
were evidently much interested in its contents, for 
neither noticed the entrance of Rob Jones, nor were 
they conscious of his presence until he, boylike, gave 
them both simultaneously a thump on the back. 

“You must be mightily interested, you two, not 
to hear me come in,” said Jones. 

“We felt your presence, Rob, quick enough,” said 
Beecham. 

“It was quite striking,” added Shealey. 

“What’s the news? It must be of tremendous 
importance to cause such absorption.” 

“It is important,” said Shealey. “Jack has just 
received a nice letter from those nice fellows of 
Blandyke College. They write elegantly — perfect 
gentlemen.” 

“What have they to say?” inquired Jones. 

“It isn’t a challenge for next spring, or anything 
of that sort,” said Jack, “but a sort of recapitulation 
of this year’s games we played together, and a chat 
over the prospects of next year. Listen to this : ‘We 
met with few defeats this summer, and I am in- 
structed by the nine to say that if we were to be 
defeated — and we were once or twice, as you re- 
member — we preferred to have been defeated by 
30 


^ PITCHING CAGE 


3T 


no one but the St. Cuthbert^s team, not only because 
you, gentlemen, weie considered worthy of our 
steel, but also because every player on your team was 
a gentleman whom it was a pleasure and an honor 
to meet.’ ” 

“Now isn’t that nice!” exclaimed Beecham. “But 
let us see what more he has to say. They are capital 
fellows, these Blandykes,” and Jack read on: “‘We 
intend to meet you early next summer, if we can 
arrange some games with you. We have great 
pleasure in telling you that we intend to wipe out 
all defeats of this season. With this in view, we 
have, already, men daily in the pitching cage, and 
our captain intends to keep his men in training all 
the winter months.’ ” 

“They must feel pretty sure of victory to tell us 
all their plans,” remarked Beecham. “Pshaw ! isn’t 
it a pity that Henning has gone back on us! I 
wonder what we shall do without him !” 

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine,” remarked Jones. 
“Whatever we do, we must not be behind the Blan- 
dykes. We, too, must get a cage and practice pitch- 
ing and catching. We can’t afford to dim the glory 
of last summer’s record. You remember we won 
two out of the three games we played with the Blan- 
dykes. Next spring we must capture the three.” 

“But we have no cage, and they are expensive 
things,” observed Beecham. 

“Pass round the hat,” remarked Shealey promptly ; 
“of course Roy will help us as usual. He is always 
generous with his money; just the fellow who de- 
serves to have plenty of it.” 

“Yes, that’s true,” said Jones, “and I suppose his 
cousin, young Garrett, has plenty of cash to spare 
too, but I doubt whether he will be as generous as 
Roy has always been. Thanksgiving day will be 


3 ^ 


^ PITCHING CAGE 


here in ten days, and we ought to have the pitching 
cage ready when the football season closes.” 

“What will Mr. Shalford say about it?” asked 
Beecham. 

“Oh ! he will leave it all to us, that's sure ; but we 
may expect his one proviso which he is very strong 
on, and that is, as you know, that we do not go into 
debt.” 

“Very good,” said Jack. “Then we had better 
begin at once. Here comes Garrett. I’ll try him 
first.” 

Beecham explained the project to Garrett, and 
then asked him whether he would help them out. 
His first words rang with a false note. 

“Has my cousin given anything?” he asked. 

“Not yet. We have not seen him yet. You are 
the first that has been asked.” 

“Very well. Put me down for five dollars.” 

“Thanks; much obliged,” said Beecham, without 
a particle of enthusiasm. 

Strange to say, young Garrett did not feel satis- 
fied. He had at once conceived this an opportunity 
to make himself popular by a liberal donation. The 
gift, for a college student, was liberal enough; but 
there was something in the merely civil “Thanks,” 
from Beecham, which told him he had not succeeded, 
at this time, in his purpose. He thought he detected 
in the tone a covert sneer. But of this he was not 
sure. He made another mistake. 

“Let me know,” he said, “what my cousin sub- 
scribes, and if he gives more than I have given, I 
will increase mine.” 

A second civil — but colder — “Thanks,” greeted 
this speech, and Garrett walked away in no very 
pleasant frame of mind. “Why is Roy so popular 
and I a nonentity?” he asked himself, but it was to 


A PITCHING CAGE 


33 

be a long time before he would learn the answer to 
his own question. 

Beecham and Shealey started at once on a sub- 
scription tour. They caught Henning in the study- 
hall. 

“Hello, Roy! We have come to bleed you, old 
man. We are going to put up a pitcher’s cage in 
one end of the long playroom for winter practice. 
How much shall we put you down for?” 

Roy Henning blushed slightly and a look resem- 
bling pain came over his face. His father’s test was 
beginning to operate. Roy, owing to his restricted 
capital, had made a resolution to spend only two 
dollars and a half each month. He made a rapid 
calculation of the present month’s necessary boyish 
expenses, and he knew that he would have very little 
to offer them. Before he could speak, however, 
Beecham remarked: 

“Say, Roy boy, we know you won’t play next 
spring ; but we want you to be treasurer and secre- 
tary of the club.” 

“Yes, you are the man for the job,” said Shealey, 
“none better. Won’t you take it? You can do ten 
times more with the boys than either Jack or my- 
self.” 

“I don’t know ” hesitated Henning, for 

several reasons. 

“Oh, yes, you do, Roy,” urged Jack. “You are a 
capital beggar, you know, and with your own big 
donation at the head of the list you will be irre- 
sistible.” 

“Call him a good solicitor,” laughed Shealey, “it’s 
more euphonious.” 

“I think I can act as treasurer and secretary for 
you, if the boys are willing. It is the least I can do 
if I don’t play.” 


34 


A PITCHING CAGE 


‘‘Of course it is. Thanks. That’s good of you/’ 
said Beecham, and Shealey nodded approvingly. 

“Now, Roy, how much shall I put you 
down for before I hand over to you the sub- 
scription list? Twenty is too much, I suppose,” said 
Shealey. 

Roy looked out of the window in a perplexed sort 
of way. He had always been a liberal contributor. 
What would his friends think of him now? The 
paternal test was certainly a hard one in more ways 
than one. 

“I am afraid I shall disappoint you,” he said. 

“In what?” asked Beecham. “In book-agent as- 
surance? Never fear. I am willing to certify that 
beneath all your laughing good humor, you are 
possessed of an unlimited amount of — of — well — 
to put it without circumlocution — an unlimited 
amount of cheek. No one can withstand your win- 
ning smile and drawing manner. But what is your 
own gift? Let us head the list with that. I must 
tell you that your cousin Garrett has promised to 
equal your subscription, so make it large, if you 
please. He has already given ” 

“How much ?” asked Henning uneasily. 

“Five dollars.” 

“Oh !” said Henning, with something very like a 
sob in his throat. 

“Better make it twenty-five, Roy; you can spare 
it, and it’s practically giving an extra twenty which 
comes out of the pocket of that beg — Oh! I beg 
your pardon. I am constantly forgetting that he is 
your cousin. I wish he wasn’t.” 

Beecham spoke the last sentence in blunt, boyish 
fashion. Roy understood him, but just now he was 
not inclined either to defend his cousin, or discuss 
his friend’s desires. 


A PITCHING CAGE 


35 

'1 am afraid I shall disappoint you this time, 
boys,” said Roy. 

“You never have yet,” remarked Shealey. 

“But I shall this time, I am sure.” 

“Well, let's see the amount of the disappointment,” 
said Beecham laughingly. 

Jack Beecham, of late, could not, as he himself 
expressed it, “make out” his friend Roy. Several 
times since the beginning of September he had sur- 
prises from Henning. He was beginning to regard 
him as an uncertain or even an unknown quantity. 
Was his friend becoming miserly? This idea made 
Jack Beecham laugh. Roy misanthropical! The 
clever, bright, jolly Roy doing aught but loving all 
mankind was absurd to think of, but yet — There 
certainly had come over his bright, genial friend a 
change which was puzzling. What could 

But his thoughts, as he stood expectantly, with 
his pencil and notebook in hand, were interrupted by 
what Roy said next : 

“You may put me down for two dollars and fifty 
cents.” Shealey only partly suppressed a giggle, 
supposing that Roy, as usual, was hoaxing. Roy 
saw the laugh and was deeply hurt. 

“Phew !” began Jack Beecham, and he was about 
to make a very straightforward remark when he 
caught a side view of poor Roy's face, which was 
suffused with the blushes of mortification. There 
was a look of positive pain there. 

Good, sensible Jack at once saw there was some- 
thing wrong somewhere. Hastily changing his 
pencil from right hand to left, he took Roy's hand 
and pressed it warmly, sympathetically. The action 
told more than words could do. Beecham gave a 
quick glance toward the door for Shealey, which 
that individual understood and immediately departed. 


36 


A PITCHING CAGE 


When they were alone Jack said: 

‘‘You are in trouble, Roy. Is there — is there 
any financial difficulty at home 

“None whatever, Jack; but I can’t explain.” 

There was another silent pressure of the hand. 

“Nor will I ask you to do so. But there is some- 
thing wrong somewhere. Oh, Roy! If I could do 
— if I could share — look here, Roy,” he at last 
blurted out, boy-fashion, “look here. I intend to 
give twenty dollars — let me put ten of it under your 
name — do let me.” 

“No, no. Jack,” said Roy, after a few moments 
of silence which his emotion compelled him to ob- 
serve; “no, you must not do that. I can’t explain, 
but come what may I want you not to misunderstand 
me. Whatever you may hear or see I want you not 
to lose faith in me,” and Roy Henning held out his 
hands to his friend, while there was a hungry, 
eagerly hungry, look in his eyes. 

There was, of course, no absolute reason why Roy 
Henning could not have given his entire confidence 
to his friend. His father had made no such restric- 
tion in the test he had imposed. It was Roy’s own 
peculiar temperament which prevented him from 
confiding in any one ; in consequence his trials were 
in reality much more severe than even his father 
could have foreseen. 

“Have faith in you! Believe in you! Well, I 
should guess. I don’t understand it all — your 
refusing to play, and this — this small donation, and 
everything; but, believe in you! Roy, I would as 
soon cease to believe in myself.” 

Roy’s eyes were hot, and his lips were dry. 

“Thanks, old man. I knew you would. I can’t ex- 
plain — yet. But as long as you have confidence in 
me I’ll go through it all right. God bless you, Jack.” 


A PITCHING CAGE 


37 


Young Beecham was more mystified than ever at 
this exhibition of emotion, but he felt at the moment 
something like the knight of old who sought quarrels 
to vindicate the fair name of the lady of his heart. 
To make the simile more in accordance with our own 
more prosaic times, Jack Beecham became Henning’s 
champion, and went around for several days with a 
metaphorical chip on his shoulder, daring any one 
to come and knock it off. Of course, the chip 
represented Roy Henning’s actions and intentions. 

After this interview, Roy looked a long time out 
of the study-hall window. 


CHAPTER VI 
Advice 

W HETHER Roy Henning’s small donation to the 
boys’ collection for the purchase of the 
pitching cage for the winter practice was 
the cause, or whether there was some other occult 
reason, the subscriptions came in very slowly. Many 
boys, seeing that Roy, usually the largest contributor 
to all such schemes, had given so small an amount, 
measured their own donations by his. The project, 
consequently, dragged along very slowly. The 
treasurer-secretary more than once called those in- 
terested together, and proposed that they should give 
up the plan. 

To this neither Shealey, nor Beecham, nor Brace- 
bridge would listen. They were boys who, having 
once taken a project in hand, were determined to 
carry it through to success. Bracebridge encouraged 
Henning to continue his work of soliciting, but the 
latter found that he was working against some im- 
palpable obstacle to success, the nature of which he 
could not divine. 

The boys were as free and as genial with him as 
ever. Every one appeared to like him as usual, yet 
withal there was an intangible something in the 
atmosphere, as it were, which appeared to militate 
against his success. Roy often tried to discover the 
cause. Was this silent but unmistakable change 
toward him, which had lately come over most of the 
boys, of his own causing? After much introspection 
he could discover no reason for blaming himself. 


ADVICE 


39 


His retirement from the field of college sports had 
been more than a nine-days’ wonder. All his friends, 
not understanding or guessing his motive, expostu- 
lated with him, and time and again urged him to 
reconsider his decision. He had remained firm. 

His more immediate friends had long ago ceased 
to make the matter a subject of conversation in his 
presence, ’ giving him credit for acting from right 
intentions, although what these were, now near 
Christmas, was as much a mystery to them as they 
were on the September day on which he had an- 
nounced his withdrawal. 

Others were not so considerate. With a savagery 
often found among thoughtless but not necessarily 
ill-intentioned boys, they frequently discussed his 
“going back on his team,” as they expressed it, in 
Roy’s presence, with an almost brutal unreserve. 

“If I could play ball as you do, Henning,” said a 
coarse-grained youth named Stockley, one day, “I 
would call myself a dog in the manger.” 

“And why, please?” asked Henning, who was by 
this time getting used to such talk from those whose 
opinion he did not value. 

“The old reason. A bird that can sing and won’t 
sing, ought to be made to sing. The honor of the 
college is at stake.” 

“Your motto has no application in this case,” 
replied Henning. “If I do any injustice to any one 
by not playing ball, then I ought to be the bird who 
should be made to sing. But I think you will have 
some difficulty in proving that I am acting against 
justice. As to the honor of the college being at 
stake, in that you know as well as I do, if you have 
any sense at all, that you are talking sheer nonsense.” 

“I don’t know whether I am,” sneered Stockley. 
“I am not the only one who thinks there is a nigger 


40 


ADVICE 


in the woodpile in this affair. Your cousin was 
saying only this morning that he could tell the boys 
something why you will not play ball that would 
make things mighty ugly for you.^^ 

“Now look here, Stockley,” said Henning warmly, 
“you go and mind your own business and leave me 
and Garrett alone or — or it will be decidedly un- 
pleasant for you.” 

Stockley, coarse as he was, was observant. He 
saw Henning's fist close tightly, and he observed the 
muscles of his arm swell up for a minute. He dis- 
creetly moved some paces away. 

“When I want your advice upon my conduct,” 
continued Henning, “I will ask it. Till then, mind 
your own affairs, and keep your tongue from wag- 
ging too freely about mine.” 

The young fellow walked away, muttering some 
unintelligible words between his teeth. Roy saw no 
more of him for several days. 

Henning entered the Philosophy classroom with a 
flushed face and an unpleasant frown. 

“What's up, Roy?” asked Ambrose Bracebridge, 
seeing that his friend had been suffering some annoy- 
ance. 

“Nothing, Brosie; only I have had to talk pretty 
freely to one fellow who attempted the mentor 
business over me.” 

“Nothing serious, I hope?” 

“Oh, no. I merely told him to mind his own 
business; that's all.” 

“Do you care to walk?” asked Bracebridge, who 
saw Henning was very much annoyed. 

“Yes, come along,” replied Henning. 

They walked some time in the face of a cutting 
wind, such as brings tears to the eyes. While facing 
it conversation was impossible. Presently they came 


ADVICE 


41 

to the base of a wooded hill which afforded them 
some shelter. Here they could talk at ease. 

“How much money have you collected, Roy, for 
the cage?'' asked Ambrose as soon as both had 
finished rubbing their chilled cheeks to bring back 
the circulation. 

“I have collected sixty-four dollars in cash, but 
about eighty-seven has been subscribed. Why do 
you ask ?" 

“Please do not think me impertinently curious if 
I ask you where you keep it." 

“Certainly not. It is in the drawer of the table 
in the dressing-room of the gymnasium. That room 
just off the play-room. You know, Ambrose, that 
is the place of meeting of all committees of the 
various college associations. It's safe there ; don't 
you think so?" 

“Yes — perhaps," answered Bracebridge, with 
evident hesitation. “I would rather you keep it there 
than in your desk, or in your trunk." 

“Why? You appear uneasy. What's the matter ?" 

“It may be foolish of me, but, Roy, I can not help 
thinking there is some ugly work being concocted. 
No doubt you think I am fanciful, but I have acci- 
dentally overheard here a word and there a word 
which I do not like." 

“From whom?" 

“I can not tell you from whom, because it is all too 
vague, and if I mentioned any name I may be doing 
an innocent boy a grave injustice. There is a good 
deal of talk against you. Many silly fellows have 
taken it as a personal affront that you refuse to 
play ball." 

“Pshaw! I 

“Wait, old fellow: of course that is all nonsense. 
It is no one's business except your own, and their 


42 


ADVICE 


talking is not worth your consideration. Neverthe- 
less there are a few restless spirits here this year, 
and it is my opinion they are only waiting their 
chance to make trouble for you.” 

‘‘What would you advise me to do, Brosie?” 

“Why not put all the money you have collected 
into the hands of the college treasurer ? He will take 
care of it for you. It will be safer in the office vault 
than in the committee room.” 

“I think it would be the better plan, but really I 
do not think there is any necessity for it. There is 
no one here who would attempt a robbery.” 

“Maybe there is not ; but as I said, it is better to 
be on the safe side.” 

“All right. Much obliged. I guess Til take your 
advice. Jack Beecham, only yesterday, hinted some- 
thing similar to what you have just said about the 
ugly spirit against me. I wonder why it should have 
arisen, Ambrose, if it really does exist outside of 
your imagination. I have done nothing small or 
mean to any one. The head and front of my offend- 
ing seems to be that I have withdrawn from next 
year's ball team. I happen to be a good player. 
Personally I regret having to take the course, but 
circumstances have occurred, which, in a way, com- 
pel this action. I can not divulge my reasons for 
so doing, even to my nearest friends — not even to 
Jack or you, Ambrose.” 

“Nor do we wish to know them,” replied Am- 
brose, “it is quite sufficient for us to know that you 
do not wish to give them. Both Beecham and 
Shealey, and of course, myself, have every confidence 
in you, and you may rely on our staunch support in 
anything that may happen. By the way, how does 
the prefect, Mr. Shalford, regard you?” 

“I do not know exactly,” said Henning, cautiously. 


ADVICE 


43 


“You see, he is a great enthusiast for sport and 
games among us boys. I know I have vexed him by 
my decision. More than once he asked me to retract 
it. When I refused to do so, and told him I could 
give him no reason, he seemed, or at least I fancied 
he seemed, to be cool toward me.” 

“Don't misjudge him, Roy,” said the other, 
warmly. “It was only yesterday that he advocated 
your cause to half a dozen pessimistic baseball mal- 
contents. He's all right. Before he had done with 
these fellows, they held very different views con- 
cerning you. Still, he has not influenced all in your 
favor, for, as you know, not all will take a common- 
sense view of things, nor listen to reason.” 

Henning nodded assent. 

“The fact is,” Ambrose continued, “the yard 
seems to be dividing or divided into two camps. 
One is pro-Henning, the other contra. Therefore, 
and I know you will take what I say in the right 
spirit, I want you to watch yourself and be quite 
careful in what you say and do.” 

“Do you think I shall be attacked ?” 

Ambrose glanced over the big form of his friend, 
and laughed loudly. 

“Not much. There is no one such a fool as to 
invite corporal punishment. But there are a dozen 
means of annoying and vexing without resorting to 
the lowest means — physical force.” 

“I am really very grateful, Ambrose, for the in- 
terest you take in me. Be sure that, come what may, 
you shall never be ashamed of having done so. It 
seems to me that, without the slightest fault of my 
own, I am placed in a most awkward position. Come 
what may, I'll try to do nothing I should afterward 
regret.” 

“That's right. I know you will be careful.” 


44 


ADVICE 


The two shook hands with the warmth of con- 
fident friendship, as they began to retrace their way 
to the college. 

On their way home they were joined by Garrett, 
who still affected the sky-blue sweater, although he 
now wore it under his coat. In the presence of 
Garrett the two friends dropped the subject of their 
confidences, and the conversation became general. 


CHAPTER VII 


The Little Sisters 

T ime crept slowly, as it is apt to do with boys at 
school. To the St. Cuthbert boys it seemed 
as if the year had leaden wings, but at length 
the week before Christmas arrived. All were now 
in expectation of coming events. If anticipation is 
half the joy, then most of the boys were taking their 
Christmas pleasures in advance. 

Already the Christmas feeling was in the atmo- 
sphere. In various out-of-the-way places were stored 
bunches of holly and cedar and laurel. At all times 
of the day when boys where free from lessons, some 
one or other would be carrying strange wooden 
devices from place to place. Now one would be 
seen carrying to some out-of-the-way shed or unused 
classroom, wooden stars or double triangles. An- 
other would partially and often unsuccessfully secrete 
a knot of clothesline. There never was such a de- 
mand for fine wire or binding twine. 

All of which meant the mediate preparation for 
decorating the chapel, study-hall, refectory, and even 
to some extent, the gymnasium. It was a pretty 
fiction among the boys that all the preparations had 
to be done in secret. It was fiction only, for the real 
fact was that, in both divisions, everybody was in- 
terested and everybody knew exactly what everybody 
else was doing. 

None entered into the work of remotely preparing 
for Christmas more heartily than Roy Henning and 
his friends, Bracebridge, Shealey, and Beecham. 
45 


46 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


There is a certain skill required in decorating. To 
some this proficiency never comes. It is perhaps an 
innate quality. It had never come to Roy Henning : 
He was no decorator. He could neither make a 
wreath of evergreens, nor cover a device with green 
stuff creditably. 

Owing to this defect of at least a certain kind of 
artistic temperament, Henning was the subject of a 
good amount of banter from his friends. He took 
all their teasing goodnaturedly, and admitted his 
utter inability to make or cover designs. 

‘T have been thinking — ouch!” said Henning. 
The last word was spontaneous. It came from 
sudden pain, caused by the sharp point of a holly 
leaf penetrating his finger, which member he imme- 
diately applied to his mouth. 

“By my halidom,” remarked Shealey, “ ’tis 
strange 1” 

“Don’t do it again,” laughed Bracebridge, “but 
learn from experience what an awful and immediate 
retribution follows upon such a crime. Hast lost 
much blood in this encounter?” 

“I think each of you fellows has a screw loose,” 
retorted Roy, still sucking his wounded finger. “I 
am sure Shealey is non compos mentis” 

“Sane enough to keep holly thorns out of our 
fingers,” retorted Shealey. 

“But, fellows, I really have an idea,” said Hen- 
ning. 

“Halt ! Attention ! Stand at ease ! Dismiss com- 
pany!” shouted Beecham with mock gravity, and 
then with a military salute, he said : 

“Now, colonel, I am all attention. What is it?” 

“It’s this, boys. It wants but five days to Christ- 
mas. Between now and the great day all our Christ- 
mas boxes will have arrived.” 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


47 


“There’s nothing very new in that idea,” answered 
Jack Beecham. “History, just at this time of the 
year, has the pleasantest way in the world of repeat- 
ing itself.” 

“You’ll be accused of having brains. Jack,” said 
Henning, “if you keep on that way. If it is not too 
great a waste of gray matter, or too violent a cere- 
bration for you, just try to listen to me for a 
moment.” 

Jack Beecham fell against the wall, and fanned 
himself with his handkerchief. 

“Poor fellow ! Isn’t it too bad ! and so near the 
holidays, too,” he said. “Does any one know when 
the first symptoms appeared?” Jack turned to 
Shealey and Bracebridge. “Hadn’t we better call 
an ambulance at once?” 

“You’ll need one if you don’t stop your nonsense 
and listen to me,” said Roy, and he doubled up his 
great fist. His friends knew Roy’s blows, although 
given only in jest, and having no desire for sore 
bones for Christmas, they were immediately all at- 
tention. Henning laughingly relaxed his muscles 
and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. 

“I thought I could bring you fellows to reason,” 
he remarked. 

“We are all attention. Say on, say on,” they 
shouted. 

“My idea is this, then. When we get our Christ- 
mas boxes, we shall each have much more than we 
need. Now you know the Little Sisters of the Poor 
maintain a large number of men and women in their 
institution. Without any settled income, don’t you 
think it must often be a difficult matter for them to 
secure enough for the old people to eat and drink ?” 

“Never thought anything about it. Guess it’s true, 
though ; but how does that affect us ?” 


48 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


‘‘Just this way/’ said Roy. “Let us ask every boy 
to give something out of his abundance to provide 
a feast for the old people.” 

“Capital idea!” shouted Bracebridge. “I do not 
believe there is a boy who would refuse.” 

“I agree with you,” said Jack. 

“But the difficulty is,” remarked Ambrose, “that 
we can not feast old folk on cake and nuts and candy. 
I suppose this is about all that comes in those boxes.” 

“You mistake,” remarked Roy. “I am sure you 
will find all sorts of cooked meats — turkeys, 
chickens, geese, and an unlimited supply of canned 
meats and delicacies.” 

Bracebridge was surprised, but then he had not 
much experience in college Christmas boxes. He 
was inclined to be slightly incredulous. This was 
Ambrose’s second year at St. Cuthbert’s. As he had 
spent the previous Christmas at home, owing to the 
fact that he lived but a few miles from the college, 
he had not yet seen the college sights of Christmas 
time. 

Had he seen the hundreds of Christmas boxes 
arrive a few days before the great feast; had he 
learned that one of the smaller study-halls had to be 
converted into a temporary boxroom for the holi- 
days ; had he seen the contents of an average Christ- 
mas-box from home, he would have been possessed 
by no doubt as to the possibility of the boys, presum- 
ing they were willing, to supply the inmates of the 
home for the aged poor with as bounteous a dinner 
as heart could desire. 

The proposal appealed to the fancy of our friends. 
They went at once to the President to obtain the 
necessary permission. 

“I give you leave willingly,” said the head of the 
college, “and I am pleased to see my boys cultivating 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


49 

a spirit of charity and considerateness for others. It 
will bring down God’s blessing on you all.” 

“Father, it wasn’t our idea at all,” said Jack. “It 
originated with ” 

“We have another permission to ask, Father,” 
interrupted Roy Henning. 

“What next?” said the President, smiling. 

“We would like to be allowed to go and serve the 
dinner to the old people some day during the Christ- 
mas week.” 

“Dear me ! What would three hundred and fifty 
boys do there?” 

“I don’t mean everybody. Father.” 

“Whom, then?” 

“Just enough to serve all their tables.” 

“How many inmates are there in the Home?” 
asked the Father. 

“About two hundred, I believe,” replied Beecham. 

“Very well, Henning; you may select two dozen 
boys to go with you.” 

“Thank you. Father. When may the feast take 
place?” 

“Christmas day falls on Monday this year. Sup- 
pose you arrange matters for Wednesday. But 
Wednesday night there is to be the Seniors’ play, 
isn’t there ?” 

“Yes, Father,” said Bracebridge, “but I do not 
think that will interfere. We can have the last 
rehearsal in the morning, if necessary, or we can be 
back by three o’clock in the afternoon.” 

“Very good,” said the genial President; “arrange 
everything with your prefect; but remember the 
matter drops unless the response is generous among 
the students. It would not do to send half a feast.” 

“There won’t be any danger of that. Father,” said 
Jack Beecham confidently. 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


50 


‘‘Very well. God bless you for your charitable 
intentions/' and they were dismissed. 

Beecham was correct. The students, almost to a 
man, became enthusiastic over the proposed feast. 
Abundance of provisions from the boys' boxes was 
donated. Every boy, instinct with the spirit of the 
season, gave something and gave it willingly. Some 
were offended because they were not allowed to give 
as much as their generosity prompted. One or two 
who were inadvertently neglected were very much 
vexed over not being asked to give their share. 
Many wondered why the beautiful idea had not 
occurred to them before. Others were so certain in 
advance of the success of the banquet that they 
then and there proposed to make it an annual occur- 
rence. 

The little black wagon of the Sisters — and who 
does not know those wagons! a familiar sight in 
nearly every city in the Union — made several trips 
to the college on the Wednesday of Christmas week. 
Hitherto the boys had paid little attention to this 
vehicle as it daily drove modestly to the door of the 
kitchen. On this day it came triumphantly into the 
boys' yard, amid the lusty cheers of the generous- 
hearted lads. Even old “Mike," the driver, noted 
ever)rwhere in town for his delicious brogue, was an 
object of special interest. 

Owing to the excitement of the occasion — the 
boys afterward declared this most solemnly — the 
driver performed the remarkable feat of making the 
old gray mare, which had seen almost as many years 
as her driver, canter, actually, positively canter, up 
to the classroom door where the provisions were 
stored. In the after-discussion of this startling event 
authentic documents were called for, and as they 
were not forthcoming the cantering incident remains 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


51 

an historic doubt until this day. This old gray mare 
was known 

The boys would not let the two nuns load the 
wagon. There were too many strong arms and 
willing hands for that. At last all the boxes were 
on the wagon, and old ‘‘Mike'’ mounted his chariot 
once more. This was a slow operation, for the old 
man's joints were stiff and he was no longer active. 
When one of the boys put the lines into his knotted 
rheumatic fingers, he broke through his usual taci- 
turnity and said : 

“You are good boys : good boys. God bless yees 
all." 

“Three cheers for Mike!" shouted a lively 
youngster in the crowd. The signal was taken up, 
and it is safe to say that the old man never received 
such an ovation before in all his life. 

As the leather curtain fell the cheering boys caught 
a last glimpse of the faces of two smiling Sisters, 
jubilant over the fact that they were carrying home 
an unwonted treasure for their old people. When 
the wagon had driven clear of the mob of good- 
natured boys. Jack Beecham ran alongside, and lift- 
ing the flap said to the Sisters : 

“Twenty of us are coming by eleven o'clock to- 
morrow. So you are to do no work. We are going 
to set the tables and serve the old people. Please tell 
the Mother-Superior that she and the Sisters are to 
stand by and give the orders, and we will do the rest." 

And the feast itself ! What a revelation the inside 
of the convent was to these gay, careless, happy boys. 
The sight of so much pain and suffering and 
dependence and resignation was to them a revelation 
indeed. 

To Ambrose Bracebridge, who eagerly accepted 
the invitation to don an apron and turn waiter for 


52 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


the occasion, the scene was one of absorbing interest. 
It will be remembered by those who have read the 
second book of the series of three which deal with 
the fortunes of the St. Cuthbert’s students, that at 
this time Ambrose was a convert to Catholicism of 
about six months’ standing, and consequently had 
seen little or nothing of the workings of the vast 
fields of practical charity within the Catholic Church. 
The immense Catholic charities of almost every 
imaginable kind which dot the land are so familiar 
to ordinary Catholics that they scarcely cause com- 
ment or notice. To Ambrose Bracebridge all was 
new and wonderful. As a waiter on the old people 
he did not prove a success. He did not do much 
serving, but spent most of his time watching the old 
people feasting, and the good Sisters looking after 
their comfort. 

‘^A penny for your thoughts,” said the chaplain of 
the institution as he came up to Ambrose. 

‘T was thinking. Father,” said Ambrose, amid the 
rattle of knives and forks, “what a wonderful charity 
this is.” 

“Yes? What impresses you most deeply?” 

“The retiring modesty of the Sisters, I think, and 
the wonderful way they have of managing these old 
people.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Yes, I am impressed with the docility and evident 
gratitude these old people show toward the Sisters. 
How is the institution supported. Father?” 

“By the charity of all classes. Have you not often 
seen the Sisters’ modest wagon on the streets? It 
seems to me that this one charity has touched the 
tender spot in the heart of the American people. 
Did you ever know a merchant, or a hotel manager. 
Catholic or non-Catholic, to refuse the Sisters?” 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


53 


“Never,” replied the boy. 

“Yet, after all, this is Catholic charity working in 
only one direction. Did you ever realize what the 
Catholic Church is doing for the State in this 
country? It seems to me that the State would be 
simply overwhelmed if all the Catholic orphanages, 
asylums, hospitals, academies, protectories, deaf- 
mute institutes, and, above all, the vast system of 
parochial schools, which make, literally, a network 
of Catholic charity over the land — if, I say, all 
these were closed and the State had to do the 
work. 

“Some, of pessimistic view,” continued the chap- 
lain, who was evidently quite optimistic in his own 
views, “are always grumbling over the fact that many 
non-Catholic institutions of learning are so richly 
endowed, and that Catholics of the country are doing 
nothing for education. I believe there never was a 
greater mistake. It is true that, as yet, there are 
few large Catholic endowments. They will come in 
time. The money paid by Catholics in the interest 
of Catholic education — and, mind you, at the same 
time they are paying their pro rata share of taxes for 
the support of all secular institutions, including the 
public schools — the money paid by Catholics, I say, 
throughout the country, makes a magnificent show- 
ing when compared to the few highly endowed 
secular universities.” 

“Is not this a rather optimistic view, Father?'’ 
asked Bracebridge. 

“I do not think so,” was the reply. “Ponder over 
it, and you will see that what I say is correct.” 

“Here, you lazy rascal — oh ! excuse me. Father 
— here, Ambrose, you lazy rascal, get some of that 
cranberry sauce from that table. You would not 
earn your salt as a waiter, Brosie,” and Roy Hen- 


54 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


ning, red-faced and excitedly busy, laughingly 
pushed Ambrose in the direction of the sideboard. 

Thus the talk with the chaplain was abruptly 
broken off. Nevertheless, Bracebridge had received 
much food for thought for future days. He pondered 
to good effect, and the result was that his graduation 
speech at the end of that year was on “Catholicity, 
a State Aid,” which was subsequently the cause of 
much comment. 

One event occurred during the old folks’ dinner 
which was of great interest to some of our friends. 
Roy Henning, during the latter part of the feast, 
when the demand for the services of the voluntary 
waiters was not so urgent, frequently passed a few 
words with the chaplain who had acted as a sort of 
honorary general superintendent of the banquet. 

On one of these occasions Jack Beecham happened 
to be passing with a plate of fruit for the table in 
one direction, and Bracebridge was carrying some- 
thing in the opposite. Both were near enough to 
inadvertently hear portions of what appeared to the 
priest to be a very interesting revelation. Both boys 
heard the end of a sentence : 

“Seminary! You?” 

“Yes, Father, please God.” 

“When?” 

“Next year.” 

“For this diocese?” 

“No, my own.” 

“Ah ! I am sorry.” 

Bracebridge and Beecham exchanged glances as 
they passed each other. What a revelation was here 
for both in regard to Henning’s conduct. Did not 
this explain a thousand things? 

As soon as the services of the two amateur waiters 
could be dispensed with, they came together in one 


THE LITTLE SISTERS 


55 


corner of the room, and while wiping their fingers 
on the aprons the thoughtful Sisters had provided 
for them, they eagerly discussed their accidental dis- 
covery, but in a rather curious fashion. 

^Tlease, Brosie, give me a good kick,” said Jack. 

‘‘Why?” asked his companion. 

“Just to think, numskulls that we are, that we 
never thought just this about dear old Roy.” 

“I do not see how we could. Roy never gave us 
the slightest hint.” 

“No, but if we were not such ninnies — Oh! I 
say, Ambrose, do you think it is true?” 

“No doubt of it. ‘Seminary — next year — his 
own diocese’ tells the tale most conclusively for me.” 

“I’m so glad I If any one of us fellows is worthy 
of being a priest, it surely is Roy.” 

“Amen. But why has he kept it such a secret? 
Now all his actions are clear to me, although I con- 
fess I think some of them are mistaken or ill- 
advised.” 

“I won’t admit that until I know more,” remarked 
loyal Jack. 

“That’s right, too. But knowing what we now 
know, we can make things much pleasanter for Roy 
than they have been so far this year.” 

“Yes ; if only for that I am glad we were involun- 
tary eavesdroppers.’' 


CHAPTER VIII 


Something Happens 

T he charitable boys returned from the Little 
Sisters early in the afternoon, aglow with the 
warmth of their own good deeds, in time to 
take a rest and an early supper, and put themselves 
in good condition for the play that evening. It was 
the Seniors’ night, and they were to present ‘‘Riche- 
lieu” for the first time at St. Cuthbert’s in years. The 
last performance of that great play, ten years ago, 
had been a brilliant success. The present generation 
of student actors were nervously anxious to equal, 
and, if such a thing were possible, to excel the repu- 
tation of the bygone players. 

To make the situation more critical, several of the 
old boys who had taken part in the play at its former 
presentation had been invited to witness its repro- 
duction. Six or seven, stirred by the memories of 
old times, had accepted the invitation. They were 
the welcome guests of the college for Christmas 
week. It can, then, be well understood that this play 
was to be the great event of the holidays. 

The afternoon passed quickly and already the 
college theater was lighted. Already the boys had 
more or less noisily scrambled to secure the best 
positions. Suddenly the footlights shot up, sending 
a thrill of expectancy through the audience. Amid 
a rather unmeaning applause, for as yet it was cer- 
tainly unearned, the orchestra took their places. 

Before the curtain, much expectancy ; behind it a 
much larger amount of suppressed excitement. 
56 


SOMETHING HAPPENS 


57 


Some of the actors were busy scanning over their 
lines for the last time, and with regretful haste, sorry 
now that they had not taken more to heart the advice 
of the trainer and committed them to memory better. 
Others were thronging around the busy make-up 
man, getting into his way, and — as always happens 
— upsetting the spirit-gum used to fasten on artificial 
mustaches and beards. 

Roy Henning, in the scarlet robe and white fur 
tippet of Richelieu, nervously tugged at a blue silk 
ribbon which was around his neck, and patiently 
waited his turn for his make-up. 

Shealey was De Mauprat and looked well in a 
black velvet suit. Ambrose Bracebridge had a 
decidedly comical appearance in a Capuchin’s brown 
habit and cord, with fleshlings and sandals, as the 
monk, Joseph. Ernest Winters, who this year had 
been promoted to the large yard, was to impersonate 
Richelieu's page, Frangois, and certainly his brother 
Claude would have been proud of him could he have 
seen at this moment how fine he looked in his hand- 
some doublet and trunks. 

The play had been slightly modified to allow of 
its presentation by college students. The Julie de 
Mortemar had been for this occasion metamorphosed 
in Julius de Mortemar, and was consequently nephew 
instead of niece of the great cardinal. The adap- 
tation of the lines had been cleverly done, so the 
transposition of this character did not greatly injure 
the play. 

Behind the curtain the actors could hear faintly 
the squeakings and tunings of the orchestra violins. 
Presently the first overture began, and the actors 
knew their time had come. The manager, with a 
commendable horror of delays and stage waits, and 
knowing that anything of that kind would ruin the 


SOMETHING HAPPENS 


58 

very best production, had everything arranged for 
the opening scene when the music ceased. 

The manager’s little bell rings once, twice, and up 
rises the curtain on the drinking scene in Marion de 
Lorme's house. The great play of the year had 
begun. Is it not strange that so many really good 
plays open with a drinking or carousing scene ? At 
best, there is nothing elevating in them, and it takes 
the finest kind of professionalism to make them even 
tolerable. The St. Cuthbert’s college boys were not 
professionals. The consequence was that the first 
scene went but slowly. 

It was not until Henning, magnificently costumed 
as Richelieu, entered, in the second scene, that any 
of the players appeared at their ease. The round of 
applause which greeted his entrance with Joseph 
seemed to steady the actors and give them confidence. 

There now occurred a strange thing during this 
scene, which led to much talk and fruitless specula- 
tion for many subsequent days. Henning made a 
good entrance. He began his lines in a rich baritone : 

Richelieu — ^‘‘And so you think this new conspiracy 
The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox? — 

Fox! — Well, I like the nickname! What did Plutarch 
Say of the Greek Lysander?” 

Joseph— “1 forget.” 

Richelieu — “That where the lion^s skin fell short he eked it 
Out with the fox’s. A great statesman, Joseph, 

That same Lysander.” 

Just as Henning had finished the rendering of the 
sentence, ‘That where the lion’s skin fell short he 
eked it out with the fox’s,” there was heard from the 
far right-hand corner of the hall a loud, distinct 
sound — one word. Clear and resonant, every one 
in the hall and the actors on the stage heard it dis- 
tinctly. As nearly as letters will represent the sound 


SOMETHING HAPPENS 


59 


it was ‘‘UGH The intonation of the one syllable 
was such as to convey without doubt to the hearers 
that the perpetrator regarded the words of the car- 
dinal as practically applicable to the actor himself. 

Many heads were momentarily turned in the 
direction whence the sound had come. Henning him- 
self gave a rapid glance to the corner of the hall. 
As he did so, he saw his cousin Garrett drop his head 
and look fixedly at the floor. 

Boys at a Christmas play do not usually fix their 
gaze on the floor. Henning felt that, for some 
reason or other, his cousin had made the interruption. 
For what purpose? Roy could not imagine. That 
it was Garrett there was no shadow of a doubt, for 
the actor plainly recognized the blue sweater his 
cousin wore constantly. Perhaps after all this time, 
thought Roy, his cousin was now trying to “get 
even'' with him, as he had promised, for refusing to 
accompany Garrett to that carpet dance during the 
summer. Roy loyally put this thought out of his 
mind, but in doing this he was more mystified than 
ever, as it left him without a motive which could 
explain the curious action. 

Fortunately for the success of the play the intended 
interruption, and probably intended insult, did not 
sufficiently distract Henning to the extent of spoiling 
the scene. There was a pause but for a moment. 
“A great statesman, Joseph, that same Lysander," 
he repeated, and thus recovering himself, the play 
went on without further interruption to a most suc- 
cessful finish. 

The next day the attempted spoiling of the scene 
was the general subject of conversation. Many boys 
were uncertain who made the attempt. Henning did 
not refer to the matter when Garrett approached 
him. He accepted the many congratulations without 


6o 


SOMETHING HAPPENS 


evidence of either pleasure or displeasure, merely 
politely bowing. He appeared indifferent to praise 
or blame from his cousin. When, however, among 
his own special coterie of friends he was by no means 
passive. 

After breakfast the Philosophers met in their own 
classroom, which, as we have before stated, was a 
sort of clubroom for them. Everybody crowded 
around Roy. Some shook his hand vigorously, 
others patted him patronizingly on the shoulders, 
assuring him that he was “the stuff’^ without deign- 
ing to explain their use of that word ; others, in their 
enthusiasm, thumped him on the back, and Ernest 
Winters, who because he had taken part in the play, 
had been allowed to come up to the classroom, 
presented him, amid the profoundest salaams, with 
a bouquet of paper flowers surrounded by cabbage 
leaves which he had purloined from the kitchen. 

“Ye done rale good, an’ this is fer yees,” said the 
young rascal. 

“He did that,” said Jack Beecham, and turning to 
Roy he continued : “If I knew who it was who tried 
to rattle you, I would ” 

“What?” asked Roy. 

“I would — would punch his head !” replied Jack, 
and manner, look, and gesture showed how pugilistic 
were his inclinations at that moment. 

“Who was it, Roy?” he continued, “I wasn’t on 
the stage just at that time, you know.” 

“I do not know,” replied Henning slowly. 

“Mental reservation,” said Bracebridge laughing. 

“I do not know,” repeated Roy, and his friends 
could get no more out of him. 

“By the way,” said George McLeod, “are you 
going to finish taking the subscriptions for the 
pitcher’s cage to-day, Roy ?” 


SOMETHING HAPPENS 


6i 

^‘Yes/’ answered Roy. ‘The boys seem to have 
plenty of money now, and we want only about 
twenty-six dollars more.’' 

“That’s splendid,” said George, “we must have 
that cage ready by the time classes begin again after 
the Christmas holidays.” 

“That reminds me,” said Henning, aside to Am- 
brose Bracebridge, “that I forgot to take that money 
out of the table-drawer and place it with the 
treasurer. I intended to do it every day for several 
days past, but every time I put more money in I 
forget all about it.” 

A shade of vexation passed over Bracebridge’s 
bright features. He said : 

“I am sorry you forgot. It would be much safer 
with the treasurer of the college. But I suppose it’s 
all right, anyway.” 

“I have seven dollars in my pocket now belonging 
to the fund. Let us go over to the playroom, boys, 
and I will unlock the drawer and take the money to 
the treasurer for safe-keeping.” 

The group of boys left the classroom and went 
diagonally across the yard to the playroom, which 
was situated under a large study-hall, and was a 
half-basement room. 

There were about two dozen boys in the playroom 
when our friends entered it. As Roy passed up the 
long room, first one and then another complimented 
the Richelieu of the previous evening on his fine 
acting. Roy’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. There 
was some of that semiconscious gentleness of perfect 
success about him. He was experiencing some of 
the pleasantest moments he had ever spent at St. 
Cuthbert’s. 

Jack Beecham took the key from Roy and un- 
locked the door of the sports-committee room. The 


62 


SOMETHING HAPPENS 


group that had recently left the classroom entered, 
those in the playroom paying little attention to them. 
Boys were accustomed to see various groups enter 
the small room for the purpose of discussing various 
sporting events and conditions of the college games. 

“How much have you collected, Roy?” asked Tom 
Shealey. 

“About seventy-two dollars — seventy-nine with 
this in my pocket. Wait; we’ll see in a minute.” 

He felt in his pocket for a small bunch of keys, 
but could not find them. 

“There ! I have left my keys in my desk. Wait a 
moment, boys, and I’ll be back,” and he started for 
the classroom. 

“What a dastardly thing that attempt last night 
was,” said one of the company. 

“I guess Roy knows who it was well enough,” 
remarked Tom Shealey, “but cousin or no cousin, 
if he did such a thing to me, I would have to get a 
very satisfactory explanation, or by the nine gods 
he would pay dearly for it.” 

“But Henning is too generous to take any further 
notice of it,” said a boy named White, “but I 
wonder whether Mr. Shalford will move in the 
matter at all.” 

“Haven’t the least idea,” said Shealey. “I do not 
see what he could do exactly. It seems to me it 
were better to let the matter drop, and I am sure that 
is Roy’s wish too. Treat it with the silent contempt 
it deserves.” 

Which speech shows that Shealey was not always 
consistent. 

Ambrose agreed with him, although at the time 
he was furiously angry. As Joseph in the play he 
was close to Richelieu, and beneath the disguising 
grease-paint on Henning’s face he saw the hot 


SOMETHING HAPPENS 


63 


flushes of passion rise for a moment. Ambrose 
thought that Roy was going to address the inter- 
rupter, but he saw him check himself in time to save 
a scene that would indeed have been memorable. 

“Go on, Roy,^’ Ambrose had whispered. “A great 
statesman, Joseph, that same Lysander.” 

Henning took the cue from Ambrose, and although 
trembling with suppressed indignation his friend 
knew the play was saved. 

“Where on earth is that Roy all this time?'' asked 
Beecham. 

Just at that moment that young man reappeared, 
red, and out of breath. 

“Oh I I say, fellows, forgive me for keeping you 
waiting so long, but Mr. Shalford caught me in the 
yard, and — and, really, he was very complimentary.” 

“Is he going to And out who attempted the inter- 
ruption last night ?'' asked young McLeod. 

“Not if I can help it, George,'' replied Roy. 


CHAPTER IX 


Who? 

“TJave you your keys, Roy?’’ asked Bracebridge. 
fl “Yes, here they are.” 

Henning moved to the end of the table where 
the drawer was, and picked out the key which was 
to unlock the table drawer. 

By this time all were engaged in a general dis- 
cussion as to the kind of pitcher’s cage which should 
be procured. 

“I can not make up my mind,” said Roy, as he 
inserted the key into the lock, “whether to recom- 
mend the committee to get a wire backstop, or a 
canvas one.” He had now opened the drawer and 
was feeling mechanically for his subscription book. 

“I think a canvas one will be better because it 
will not be so hard on the balls, and be less noisy, 
too. Why ! where is my book — Ah ! here it is.” 

He drew out from the drawer the book containing 
the list of donors. In the back of the book Henning 
had made a rough sketch of what he supposed was 
wanted as a pitcher’s cage. He showed it to the 
boys. 

“Who’s the artist?” asked Jack. 

“Your humble servant,” replied Roy. 

“H’m! Perspective all out. It looks two miles 
long. I guess the grease-paint man of last night 
could do better than that.” 

“That’s what you say. Jack,” answered Roy good- 
naturedly ; “I would like to see you do as well, any- 
way.” 

64 


WHO? 


65 

Jack Beecham was not in earnest. Henning had 
caught him winking to the others while decrying 
his work. 

“Well,” continued Roy, as he put his hand again 
into the drawer, “I would not ask Mr. John Beau- 
champs — to draw — for me — a — a barn door — 
Great heavens! Where’s that money! I can’t feel 
it anywhere in the drawer !” 

All this time Henning’s forearm was in the drawer 
and his fingers were nervously searching for the 
bag. 

“Give yourself more room. Open the drawer 
wider, you goose,” said Beecham. 

Henning pushed back his chair so suddenly that 
it fell. He pulled out the drawer to its full length. 
Then taking out the contents of the drawer he put 
them excitedly on the table. There was a large 
leather blotter, with pouches, a pad of athletic club 
letterheads, a lot of spoiled half sheets of foolscap, 
about a quire of clean paper, and a few small mis- 
cellaneous articles. 

“Did you have the money in a purse?” asked 
Bracebridge, who could not keep his anxiety out of 
his voice. 

“No; it was in one if those yellow bank canvas 
bags.” 

“Look again through the pile of papers and be 
sure it is not there.” 

They all searched. The money was gone. 

Those who saw Henning at that moment pitied 
him from the bottom of their hearts. For a few 
seconds he stood as one dazed. When he realized 
the force of the catastrophe which had happened to 
him he turned ghastly pale. His lips became livid. 
Around them were distinct white lines. 

For a moment the six boys stood in perfect 


66 


WHO? 


silence. Ambrose Bracebridge seemed afraid to look 
at his friend. 

Henning stood as one dazed, not at present seem- 
ing to realize all of the untoward thing that had 
happened to him. It seemed to him as if he were 
under water and could not breathe. He panted for 
breath. A moment or two later a reaction set in 
and the blood rushed to his head, making his sight 
waver and his temples throb, and reddening his face 
to crimson. He felt as if he were falling forward, 
yet he remained motionless. 

^Tetch Mr. Shalford, Ernest, but tell him nothing. 
Say we want him at once,’' whispered Bracebridge 
to young Winters. The boy slipped out noiselessly 
and it is doubtful if any one except the last speaker 
noticed or knew of his departure. In half a minute 
Mr. Shalford came in. As he pushed the door open 
he saw the standing group, and began to laugh. 

“High tragics, eh? Are you all posing for a 
tableau? Where’s the camera? What! What on 
earth is the matter with you boys ? Speak some of 
you ; what has happened ?” 

They certainly did look a lot of frightened boys. 
Suddenly Roy regained the power of speech. With 
a full realization of his own predicament he threw 
up his hands in a despairing attitude. 

“Oh, oh, oh ! I shall be branded as a thief 1” 

Then he dropped on his knees and buried his face 
in his arms on the table. 

“That’s quite dramat ” again began Mr. Shal- 

ford, but suddenly checked himself. He now saw 
there was something woefully wrong. 

A moment before Roy Henning had a strong in- 
clination to burst out laughing at his ridiculous 
position, but his self-control was too great to permit 
him to give way to the nervous hilarity of misfor- 


WHor 


67 


tune. Just as Mr. Shalford entered the room the 
thought flashed across his mind of the consequences 
at home for him. What would his stern father say! 
Then a momentary thought of his mother’s grief — 
and he gave way. 

Who can blame him ? Roy was as yet only a boy, 
after all. At present he lacked the stability and poise 
of later years. Fifteen or twenty years later he 
would have borne the crash of a financial misfortune 
with a certain kind of equanimity. But he was 
young yet, living in boy-world, with all a boy’s 
thoughts and feelings. And he wept. Do not blame 
him. It is more than probable that under the same 
circumstances you and I, and a hundred others, if 
we ever had a spark of boy nature, or boy feeling 
about us, would have done the same, and not thought 
it derogatory either. 

Mr. Shalford, putting his hand on Roy’s shoulder 
in a kindly way, said : 

‘What is wrong, Roy? What has happened? 
Your friends do not want to see you in this way.” 

The poor boy raised his head from his arm. 

“It’s gone. The money’s gone. My character is 
ruined I” 

“That is not so, my boy. Be sensible. No one 
in his senses will ever accuse you. How much was 
taken ?” 

“All, sir, except seven dollars in my pocket.” 

“But how much ?” 

“Seventy-two dollars.” 

“Dear me ! dear me ! Seventy-two dollars ! Why 
did you keep so large a sum in a place like this, 
Roy?” 

“If I had a particle of common-sense I would have 
taken Bracebridge’s advice long ago. He recom- 
mended putting it away safely two weeks ago, but 


68 


WHO? 


I forgot to do it. What a fool I was — fool ! fool !” 

‘‘Don't say that, my boy. Come, cheer up. There 
is not a shadow of moral wrong for you in the whole 
affair. It’s a misfortune for you, truly. You can 
bear that bravely. We may catch the thief yet.” 

“Yes ; but, sir, I shall be suspected. Many fellows 
will point the finger at me. Oh ! — oh ! I think I 
had better go home and give up all my plans.” 

Give up all his plans ! In the bitterness of his heart 
he thought that all was ruined, that the secret hopes 
of a vocation were now irretrievably lost, character 
gone, opportunities wasted. Well, Roy Henning was 
not the first and will not be the last of those who, 
when sudden misfortune comes, grow exceedingly 
pessimistic and want to give up. This was the first 
great grief of Roy’s life. All the petty annoyances 
he had suffered from Garrett and his undesirable 
clique sank into insignificance in the face of this 
overwhelming calamity. Oh, why had he not 
followed Bracebridge’s advice, and, days ago, put 
the money out of his own keeping! 

“Yes,” he said again, “I think I had better 
leave ” 

“No, no, no, no, Roy!” came the chorus from his 
friends. 

“If you do so, now, Roy,” said Mr. Shalford, who 
motioned silence to the others, “you make the mis- 
take of your life. You give your enemies — I mean 
those ill-disposed toward you, if there are any — a 
free field, and unlimited opportunities to vilify you. 
You can not, you must not go.” 

“But I must.” 

“No, no, you must not, Roy.” 

“But I must, sir. Oh, I can’t stand it !” 

“Well, if you must, think over your friends’ sor- 
row at such a course.” 


WHor 69 

‘^Sir ?” asked the bewildered boy, not at all under- 
standing. 

“I say, think of our sorrow, your friend’s sorrow 
at such a step. And, Roy, think of your mother’s 
sorrow ! A son with a blighted name ! Don’t you 
see that by running away now you make a tacit con- 
fession of some guilt? No, you must not go !” 

Long ago Mr. Shalford had surmised what were 
Henning’s intentions and aspirations for a future 
career. He saw this affair would be an occasion of 
trying the very soul of the boy before him, and that 
it would either make or break him. He thought, and 
correctly, that he knew the character of the youth 
now in such deep trouble, and he was anxious that 
he should make no false step. He looked Roy 
straight in the eye, and said seriously : 

‘‘Definitely, you must not go,” and then, as calmly 
as he had spoken before, he made use of a somewhat 
enigmatic expression: “Eagles live on mountain 
heights where storms are strongest.” 

A quick glance from Henning told the prefect that 
the boy understood him, and the saying also told the 
boy that the prefect had divined his intention ac- 
curately. Mr. Shalford had thought the words and 
the glance would be understood by himself and Hen- 
ning only. In this he was mistaken. Two boys, 
who had overheard Roy’s words to the chaplain at 
the Little Sisters, understood perfectly. 

“Very well, sir. I stay,” said Roy. 

“That is right; that is sensible,” said Mr. Shal- 
ford, but in a moment Henning burst out, with an 
agony in his voice that was piteous : 

“Oh, the shame of being suspected! What shall 
Ido! What shall I do!” 

“Let me think what is best to do,” said Mr. Shal- 
ford, who walked up and down the room once or 


70 


WHO? 


twice. He realized that it was a critical moment in 
Henning's life, and he wanted to gain a little time. 
He decided that it was wisest to get Henning away 
from the scene of his misfortune at least for a few 
hours. 

“What you will do now is this, all of you. You — 
Henning, Bracebridge, Beecham, and Shealey, will 
go out at once for a long tramp, buy your dinners 
somewhere, and do not come home till dark. Have 
you plenty of money?" 

“Yes, sir; yes, sir, lots of it," answered the de- 
lighted three who were not in trouble. 

“I don't think " began the despondent Hen- 

ning. 

“That's right; just now do not think," said the 
energetic prefect. “It will do no good. Walk and 
talk instead. Come home tired out, all of you." 

Three out of the group were enthusiastic over the 
plan. But there were two other very long faces just 
then. George McLeod and Ernest Winters were not 
included in the generous proposal. 

“I say, Mr. Shalford, may not the kids come, 
too?" asked Tom Shealey. 

“The kids ! Whom do you mean ?" and the prefect 
turned and saw two very disconsolate faces. He 
thought for a moment. 

“Let — me — see. Records clear, Ernest? George?" 

“Yes, sir," answered the two, their hopes rising. 

“How were your notes in the Christmas com- 
petitions ?" 

“Pretty good, sir, eighty-two," answered Ernest. 

“Eine, sir, mine were eighty-nine," answered 
McLeod for himself. 

In the meantime Mr. Shalford had caught Hen- 
ning's eye. By a slight raising of his eyelids he 
wordlessly inquired if the company of these smaller 


WHO? 


71 


boys would be acceptable. Roy answered by an 
almost imperceptible affirmative movement of the 
head. 

^‘Very well, then,’' the prefect said, ‘‘I suppose 
you both may go, too, but it’s only another weakness 
on my part, letting small boys out all day. You big 
boys must take care of them.” 

“Whoop!” shouted Ernest vociferously, and even 
the disconsolate Henning smiled at Ernest’s resem- 
blance in voice and manner to Claude, his brother, 
especially under stress of any pleasurable excitement. 

“Of course I will set about investigating this 
money matter at once,” resumed Mr. Shalford, “and 
you six here had better keep the whole matter a 
secret, at least for a time.” 

This injunction was useless. The prefect, this 
time, had reckoned without his host. At his own 
exclamation of surprise at the discovery of the theft, 
several boys who were in the large playroom, 
crowded around the door, unobserved by the prefect, 
whose back was toward them. Already the fact was 
known in the yard to some extent. Already had 
little excited groups begun to discuss the startling 
event. 


CHAPTER X 


A Day^s Adventure 

M r. Shalford at once told the President of the 
theft, and what he had arranged for Henning. 
The head of the college agreed with the pre- 
fect in thinking that a day's outing for Roy would 
be the best distraction he could get. A change of 
scenery and of faces would be beneficial, and prevent 
the unfortunate boy's mind from dwelling too mor- 
bidly on his misfortune while the event was still 
fresh. 

‘‘Why, why, why! What's this? Boys out of 
bounds? Where are you going? Dear me, dear 
me!" 

The President, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, 
shook his gray locks, and a long finger, at the six 
boys whom he purposely met on the snow-covered 
lawn in front of the college. 

“Where are you going?" he asked again. 

“We hardly know yet. Father," said Jack 
Beecham. “We have only a few minutes ago ob- 
tained permission from Mr. Shalford for a day 
off." 

“A day off! and what do you expect to do with 
it?" 

“Take a good tramp, buy our dinners at a farm- 
house, and have a good time. Father." 

‘‘H — hm! Have a good time, eh? Well, that's 
right. You can all be trusted. Hope you will enjoy 
yourselves. Wait. Where are your skates? If I 
were you I would take them with me. In your 
72 


A DAY’S ADVENTURE 


73 

journeying you may come across a frozen pond, 
and then you would regret being without them.” 

'That’s a good idea, Father. We will go back and 
get them,” said Jack. 

“Do, and meet me here before you start.” 

The boys turned back into the yard, and the 
President went to his office. A few minutes later he 
met the boys. He was carrying a good sized 
parcel. 

“Were you not some of the charitable boys who, 
out of their abundance, provided the old folks with 
a feast yesterday ?” 

Not one of those engaged in that enterprise an- 
swered, but Ernest Winters said : 

“Yes, Father, these four big fellows were some 
of them and I think they are all a set of mean 
fellows.” 

The four, and the President, too, looked surprised. 

“Why do you think that, my child ?” he asked. 

“Because they didn’t give any of us smaller boys 
a chance to give anything toward the feast.” 

The four big “mean” fellows burst into a laugh. 

“Never mind, Ernie, this time,” said Jack 
Beecham, “we had too much anyway. You shall 
have a chance for the next spread.” 

The President smiled at Ernest’s vehemence, and 
at the nature of his charge. 

“On your way,” he said to Henning, “I want you 
to call at the Little Sisters and give them this 
package. I learned last night that although your 
dinner there was a great success yesterday, still there 
are many poor creatures, both men and women, who 
are in the infirmaries and could not attend. Here 
are a couple of boxes of cigars for these old men, 
and two boxes of candy for the old women.” 

The boys were delighted to be given such a 


74 


A DAY^S ADVENTURE 


mission. A bright smile of welcome spread over the 
features of the Sister who answered the door, when 
she saw these college boys again. 

“Come into the parlor, young gentlemen, and I 
will call Mother.’’ 

The Superioress soon came. She was profuse in 
her thanks for what the students had done that week 
for her charges. 

“May God bless you all,” she said. “Our old 
people, since yesterday’s dinner, have done nothing 
but talk about the kindness of the young gentlemen 
in remembering them. Many extravagantly funny, 
and some really comical things were said in your 
praise,” and the nun’s eyes twinkled and a smile 
stole around the corners of her mouth at the remem- 
brance of many a quaint bit of Irish humor from 
the old men. 

“Oh, tell us some of the things, Mother,” said the 
impetuous young Winters. 

“I am unable to reproduce any of it. I should 
only spoil it if I were to attempt it. You must come 
and hear them yourselves some day.” 

Henning then told her their mission. 

“Please convey my thanks to the President. All 
of you must visit the infirmaries and distribute the 
gifts.” 

Whether this is what the President intended — 
we are inclined to think it is — that visit was the 
very best thing that could have happened to Henning 
in his present frame of mind. There is nothing like 
witnessing the sorrow and misery of others to make 
us think less of our own. For the first time in his 
life Henning was face to face and in close touch with 
pain and suffering and disease and all the calamities 
of impoverished old age. What was a misfortune 
like his to that of being doubled and rendered help- 


A DAY’S ADVENTURE 


75 


less by rheumatism? Here one was totally blind, 
but marvelously patient. There another whose dis- 
torted hands rendered her powerless to help herself. 
Another had to be lifted and tended and fed as a 
little child in the helplessness of old age and years 
of sickness. Yet all, under the fostering charity of 
the nuns, were clean, docile, grateful, and as cheer- 
ful as their condition would permit. Yes, the visit 
was very beneficial to Henning. 

It is true that Roy’s greatest distress was, after all, 
in the anticipation of what was to come. He knew 
there were many who were by no means kindly dis- 
posed toward him. Would these set afloat rumors 
and reports? Would they attempt to blacken his 
character? He greatly feared they would. 

The chagrin caused by having lost the money 
entrusted to him through want of a little prudential 
forethought, or through mere forgetfulness of what 
he had the intention of doing, was bad enough. The 
imputations and the innuendoes he dreaded far more. 
He realized that life could be made very bitter for 
him. But after all, what was all he might have to 
suffer, even granting the gloomiest view of the 
future to be the actual one, in comparison to the 
chronic and hopeless pains of these poor people in 
the Sisters’ infirmaries? 

He left the convent in a much more cheerful frame 
of mind than he had experienced since the discovery 
of the theft. His companions gladly saw the change. 
They did their utmost during the long tramp over 
the hills, by quip and prank and song and jest, to 
make the time pass pleasantly. 

It was a splendid day for a winter’s walk. It is 
true there was no sun, but neither was there a breath 
of cold air stirring. There was an even gray sky, 
a motionless atmosphere, and just sufficient snow 


76 


A DAY'S ADVENTURE 


to accentuate the beauties of a winter landscape, but 
not enough to envelop everything in an indiscrim- 
inating white pall. It was an ideal winter day in 
which to be outdoors. 

The fresh snow that had fallen during the night 
and early morning remained on the trees, loading 
down every branch and twig. The well-known 
bridle-path through the woods, along which the boys 
passed merrily, had a double carpet, the upper one 
of snow, and beneath that a spreading of dry autumn 
leaves. 

The great charm of a windless snow-covered 
forest is the absolute silence that prevails. Nothing 
was heard by the travelers save the distant occasional 
bark of a shepherd-dog, or a far-off train whistle, 
sounding like a dismal appeal for help, and sub- 
consciously regarded by the hearers as an irreverent 
intrusion upon the silence of the solitude. Once in 
a while from an overweighted bough the soft snow 
would fall, but with a muffled sound as if fearful of 
breaking nature^s sabbath calm. 

As the boys traveled merrily on, here and there 
they saw the ‘Vestigia'’ of birds or rabbits, and once 
they discovered what they supposed to be deer tracks 
in the snow. Descending to a pretty hollow they saw 
a scene which delighted them immensely. In the 
bottom of the hollow, which in the summer time was 
a beautiful glade in the forest, there was standing 
out alone with a clear space around it, a magnificent 
snow-laden spruce tree. Each graceful downward 
curve of the limbs sustained its load of pure white 
snow. The symmetry of the forest king was un- 
marred, but appeared glorified by its covering of 
whiteness. 

The six were enraptured. They gazed long at 
the beautiful sight and would have delayed much 


A DATS ADVENTURE 


77 


longer had not Jack Beecham, who had assumed a 
temporary leadership of the excursion, warned them 
of the unwisdom of staying too long in one place. 

A little farther along they saw an ideal winter 
scene. A large, comfortable farmhouse, with all the 
sheds and barns of a well-kept farm, lay at their feet 
under a mantle of white. From the broad chimney 
arose a straight column of blue smoke, telling of 
warmth within. In the barnyard were several head 
of comfortable looking sheep and fat cattle were 
contentedly ruminating in the shelter of a huge straw 
stack. One of the inmates of this cosy looking farm- 
house had, probably unconsciously, added the last 
touch to complete the artistic effect of this scene of 
gray and white. In the door yard on a clothesline 
were three or four brilliantly red woolen shirts which 
heightened by contrast the more somber colors of 
the scene. 

‘‘That’s our Mecca if the fates be propitious,” said 
Tom Shealey, as the boys were viewing the scene 
here described from an elevated point at least a mile 
away. 

“It is a comfortable looking house and doubtless 
has a well-stocked larder. I wonder if the Dowsibel 
of the Kitchen could be induced to turn a spit for us.” 

“ ’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished,” ob- 
served Beecham, “for already I believe I could eat 
a couple of sheep and a Michaelmas goose.” 

The boys had already walked a good seven miles. 
All were beginning to feel tired and to realize the 
necessity of a good meal. 

“Suppose we can not be entertained there?” sug- 
gested Ernest Winters. 

“Then we shall have to tramp on till we find a 
place where we can be — perhaps ten miles more,” 
said Roy Henning teasingly. 


78 


A DAY’S ADVENTURE 


“O — oh!’’ groaned Ernest. Roy laughed. 

‘‘Well, do not despair, little one. Nine miles from 
here I know of a wayside hostelry where we may 
perhaps get some year old crackers and eggs, with 
an apology for coffee, and have the privilege of pay- 
ing Delmonico prices.” 

“Oh, oh! Nine miles — oh! Sixteen miles and 
crackers! Oh!” groaned Winters again. All burst 
out laughing at the comical look of despair Ernest’s 
face had assumed. 

“Look here, Ernie,” said Roy again, “if it comes 
to the worst we can eat our shoes and our skate 
straps, and our gloves for dessert.” 

During their chatter they had continued their walk 
down the hillside toward the comfortable-looking 
farm. When about half way down the road they 
saw a jolly looking, red-faced man — in the clear 
atmosphere they could easily distinguish his red face 
— come out of the farmhouse, take his stand on the 
stoop or veranda, shade his eyes with his hand, and 
look a long time at the approaching boys. 

“We shall know our fate in a few minutes,” said 
Jack Beecham in a tragic whisper to Ernest. “If 
we are not welcome he will set his savage dogs on 
us as soon as we get near enough, and then we shall 
be hungry orphans out in the cold world, sure 
enough.” 

But no such catastrophe occurred. After gazing 
a few minutes the man went into the house and 
closed the door. The boys opened the yard gate 
with trepidation, fearful of the onslaught of some 
vicious watchdog, and more afraid than they would 
have been owing to the rascal Jack’s ominous fore- 
cast of the possibilities. To their great relief no 
canine enemy appeared. 

All they saw pleased them. There was an air of 


A DATS ADVENTURE 


79 


prosperous, generous plenty everywhere. The hay- 
mows were bursting with sweet-smelling hay. The 
wheat barn was congested with unthreshed grain. 
The cows, pigs, and sheep were fat, and evidently 
well cared for. Repose was everywhere. In such 
a place as this, thought Roy, life must be well worth 
the living. 

‘‘Cave canem,” whispered Bracebridge, as he 
espied the watchdog lying on the porch of the house. 
This old Roman warning, “Beware of the dog” was, 
on this occasion, unnecessary, for when the animal 
saw the visitors he merely wagged his tail and did 
not take the trouble to stir. He seemed too fat and 
too contented with life to care about molesting a 
mere parcel of college boys, and his instinct told him 
they did not belong to the genus tramp. 

As they reached the porch of the house the good- 
natured looking man who had watched them coming 
down the hillside opened the door. The boys noticed 
that he had put on his coat to welcome them. While 
making his observations he had been in his shirt- 
sleeves. 

“Welcome, young gentlemen. Come right in by 
the fire,” was his hearty greeting. “Mother, Mother ! 
Here are some young gentlemen from Cuthberton,” 
he called to some one in the large living-room. 

A kind, motherly woman appeared in the doorway. 
She was clad in a warm homemade linsey dress, 
with a white handkerchief over her shoulders, and 
white muslin cuffs to match. A black lace coif 
surmounted her snow-white hair. The boys saw a 
very smiling, kindly face in the doorway greeting 
them. 

“Welcome, welcome, my dears. You are welcome. 
But, please, scrape the snow off your shoes before 
you come in. I am very particular about that, am 


8o 


A DAY\S ADVENTURE 


I not, Roland?’’ and she glanced affectionately at 
'the big man beside her. 

‘‘Yes, yes, indeed she is,” he remarked humor- 
ously. “Would you believe it, gentlemen, she leads 
me an awful life about my dirty boots — awful — 
awful !” 

“Roland,” said the elderly lady, “how you do 
talk!” 

The husband gave a sly, comical wink to the boys, 
who immediately understood the nature of the 
amicable bantering which they soon found was going 
on constantly between these two. 

“Take off your overcoats, my dears, and come up 
to the fire. You must be cold. There’s no wind, 
but it’s near zero. And did ye walk all the way from 
St. Cuthbert’s College? You must all be tired.” 

She saw at once they were college boys. 

“Did ye now! Well now! well! well! My! but 
that’s a long way to walk. Roland, go ye and get 
another hickory back log, and start a good blaze. 
Now sit ye there and warm yourselves. I’ll be back 
in a minute or two,” and the kindly woman put down 
her knitting and bustled out of the room. 

“This is fine!” said Tom Shealey. “We are in 
luck for sure.” 

“I wonder where she has gone,” ventured Ernest 
Winters, in a whisper. 

“Gone ? Um ! um ! don’t you know, youngster ?” 
said Jack Beecham, with a shrug, and a stage 
whisper. He was a terrible tease. “Better keep 
your eyes on your skates and overcoat, Ernest. Of 
course she has gone to gather all the hired men on 
the farm who will soon be here to drive us off the 
premises. The ogre of this castle won’t stand for 
any such invasion as ours. You can see it in her 

_ ft 


A DAY^S ADVENTURE 


8i 


But Ernest was not to be caught a second time. 

“You can’t fool me this time, mister. I think — 
but hush ! here she comes.” 

She came. With her came two of her maids bear- 
ing with them eatables — sweet homemade bread, 
apparently created to make a hungry schoolboy’s 
mouth water, delicious pats of golden butter, red 
cheese, and an enormous pitcher of new milk — what 
a lunch for hungry boys ! 

“I am very glad you came,” again remarked the 
dear old lady. “To-day I give the farmhands and 
the dairy maids a sort of Christmas-week feast. It 
is a holiday in this house to-day. We don’t have 
dinner to-day until after two o’clock, and as that is 
late and you must be hungry with your long walk 
already — my ! it’s nigh onto eight miles to the big 
school, isn’t it — you had just better take a snack 
before dinner-time. Come, sit up to the table, my 
dears ; that is if you are warmed enough.” 

The young fellows did not need a second in- 
vitation. Hunger is a good sauce. Growing boys 
are always hungry and the sweet, wholesome farm- 
house fare was extremely enticing. Such butter! 
No oleomargarine there. Were it not, as mentioned 
before, that boys have a perpetual appetite, I am 
afraid that the amount of bread, cheese, butter, and 
milk disposed of would have seriously interfered 
with the enjoyment of the forthcoming dinner. At 
all events it wanted considerably over two hours to 
dinner-time. 


CHAPTER XI 


An Afternoon's Fun 

I F the writer of these veracious chronicles knows 
anything about boys — and he has been accused 
of having that knowledge — he is sure that his i 
boy readers, and his girl readers, too, for that matter, , 
will expect an account of that famous farmhouse 
dinner. Well, we can not delay the story by merely 
describing what people eat; yet it was a gorgeous 
feast for our friends. The enjoyment was greatly ' 
enhanced by the complete unexpectedness of it all. ' 
Not the least part of this enjoyment was the hearty, 
extraordinary welcome given to a troop of boys who 
had never been to the house before and were entire 
strangers to the good people who entertained them 
so royally. 

A few minutes after two o'clock the farmer took ^ 
from a shelf in the common living-room a large ; 
seashell and went to the porch and sounded it lustily, l 
much to the astonishment of George McLeod, who ;> 
had never seen a shell put to such a use before. | 
‘‘How did you do it ?" he asked. 

“Just blew into it. Try it yourself,” said the > 
farmer. McLeod tried and tried again, but could f 
not produce a sound. J 

“What is it for?” he inquired. J 

“To call the hands to dinner. We have no bells > 
or whistles out here in the country, so we use a horn, ii 
or a big shell, which is the next best thing, and I J 
believe it sounds farther. On a still day I have ’j 
heard this shell five miles away.” ? 

82 '! 


AN AFTERNOON'S FUN 


83 

‘‘Come, boys ; wash for dinner,’’ called the 
motherly housekeeper. They were not allowed in 
the kitchen while the maids were dishing the dinner. 
They were taken to a side porch and there shown a 
rain-barrel and several tin pans and soap. A large 
round towel hung on a nail close by. The boys 
enjoyed this primitive method of performing their 
ablutions. 

The dinner was a surprise even to those boys who 
were not unused to occasional big dinners at home. 
George McLeod said that never in his life had he 
seen so large a turkey, but it was found none too 
large after it had passed the guests and traveled to 
the end of the table. And the stuffed ham ! And the 
mince pies, and tarts, and rosy apples and nuts, and 
that old-fashioned plum pudding! Well, we must 
stop : it is not fair. 

There were two wings in the rear of the house 
which the boys had not noticed when descending the 
hill in front of the dwelling. To one of these all 
the maids of the large household retired after dinner, 
and the farmhands went to the other, where they 
spent the rest of the afternoon in smoking and en- 
joyment until it was time to feed and water the 
stock, milk the cows, and do the other necessary 
daily farm chores. 

Roy Henning and his companions, after the din- 
ner, were invited to sit around the blazing yule log. 
The old lady sat in the center of the group in an 
old-fashioned armchair whose back reached some 
twelve inches above her head, and which had large, 
broad, comfortable arms. It was well padded and 
comfortable, and was covered with a serviceable 
chintz of a soft green color. She sat in the midst of 
her guests, before the blazing logs, a very picture of 
content and matronly dignity. Her husband sat next 


84 'AN AFTERNOON^S FUN 

to her, and their guests were arranged on either side. 

With fine tact she drew out each boy and made 
him appear at his best. Although, owing to the 
generous welcome given them, all reserve and bash- 
fulness had vanished long before the dinner, yet the 
coziness of a winter afternoon indoors made them 
chatty and even confidential. They told her of the 
play the night before and of its success. They found 
interested listeners in host and hostess. 

‘T should so like to have been there,” said the old 
lady. ‘T am so fond of good dramatic productions. 
Providing the tone is correct there is no more elevat- 
ing form of amusement than the drama.” 

“Hold on there, mother,” said the husband, “grand 
opera is finer. In that we get all that dramatic 
presentation gives, with the addition of excellent 
music.” 

“You know, my dears,” said Mrs. Thorncroft, for 
that was the old lady’s name, “my husband is an 
enthusiast in matters musical.” 

“So is Ernie Winters,” said his friend George 
McLeod. 

“Is that so?” said Mr. Thorncroft, enthusiastically. 
“Is that so? Well, well! Now I wonder, mother, 
whether these young gentlemen could not sing some 
songs for us. Wouldn’t that be fine, eh?” 

“Jack Beecham can sing, ma’am,” said George 
again. 

“Oh! you keep quiet, youngster,” said Jack. 

“I won’t. He sings first rate, sir.” 

“Capital! Anybody else?” 

“Yes,” said Beecham, “George McLeod there, 
who is so fond of getting other people into difficulty, 
can sing, too.” 

McLeod shook his fist at Jack. But it was well 
known that he had a good voice. 


AN AFTERNOON^S FUN 


85 

Then, to the infinite delight of the musical farmer, 
songs and glees and madrigals and rounds were 
sung. It was an impromptu concert, but of no mean 
order, for the lads were well trained and had a good 
stock of songs. They wished, properly, to make a 
return in some way for the kindly treatment they 
had received and were still receiving. “Holy Night” 
was given, and “Good King Wenceslaus,” and “God 
Rest You, Merry Gentlemen,” “Angels We Have 
Seen and Heard,” and many others. Then followed 
the college songs, and the concert was closed with 
the old favorite of St. Cuthbert’s, the “O Sanc- 
tissima.” 

When the singing had ceased there was a momen- 
tary silence, , during which the six boys exchanged 
signals and glances. Suddenly there were two very 
startled people in the company around the ingle 
nook. The old lady half arose from her chair in 
consternation and amazement. Her husband stared 
in wonder when he heard such a vociferous and un- 
expected sound. Had the boys gone crazy? Cer- 
tainly the old people, kind and hospitable as they 
were, for at least one minute thought so. Such an 
unearthly noise! It resembled nothing so much as 
a wild Indian warcry. 

After all it was only the college yell. 

In the school days of Mr. and Mrs. Thorncroft no 
such thing had ever been dreamed of. Living now 
in seclusion out in the country amid plenty and a 
certain rustic refinement, this elderly couple had 
never heard that modern accomplishment of a 
college man — the yell. It may be exhilarating to 
the college man ; its use may be within the modern 
bounds of propriety, and it may, among the coteries 
of the more advanced, be considered the correct 
thing; but it is certain that the old lady, who had 


86 


AN AFTERNOON^S FUN 


been educated in a French convent in her youth, 
hearing the yell for the first time did not think so. 
Her unformulated idea, judging from her looks, was 
that it was an indication of atavism — a going back, 
in one particular — to man’s former state of 
savagery. 

The boys were amused at her surprise. She then 
saw that it was something done for her entertain- 
ment. They evidently thought it was something 
very fine. These lads lacked, just now, what one 
may call perspective. They lacked the proper ap- 
preciation of the correctness, or fitness, of things. 
They knew the college yell was the most enthusing 
thing on earth to them when used on the campus in 
a grand rush to victory, but they did not think, or 
realize, that the same yell given in a small room 
might be startling and even offensive to an elderly 
lady. 

‘‘You must excuse me now, boys, for a little 
while,” said the farmer. “I must go and look after 
my men. I will be back soon. Mother” — he al- 
ways called his wife by that name — “are all the 
walnuts gone?” 

“No. Dear me! I never thought about them. I 
will get some.” 

She returned with a large dish of walnut and 
hickory nuts. In lieu of the usual table nut-crackers 
she brought a flat stone and two hammers. While 
the boys were busy cracking and eating nuts she 
said: 

“You do not know, my children, what an un- 
expected pleasure your visit has been to me. Would 
you like to know the reason? Very well, I will 
tell you,” she seated herself comfortably again in her 
green chintz-covered chair. 

“I love boys because somewhere in the world there 


AN AFTERNOON^S FUN 


87 

are wandering two of my own dear children. Both 
left home when they were about the age of you four 
big boys, and I love to remember them as such even 
now. They were fine lads, with rosy healthy cheeks, 
and they were good. You lads with your bright 
eyes and clear skins, and good pure faces make me 
see my own two darlings once again. Do I long to 
see them ? Ah, yes. Oh, how much, how much ! — 
once again before I die. But I am not grieving 
about them. No. Every night I commend them to 
the keeping of our blessed Mother, and I feel that 
wherever they may be a mother’s prayers for them 
must be heard. I am sure that Our Lady is taking 
care of them.” 

‘‘Why did they leave home ?” asked Henning sym- 
pathetically. 

“Ah ! the wanderlust. The desire to see the world. 
But you boys must come and see me again and I 
will tell you the story. There is no time now, as I 
see my husband coming from the cattle-shed.” 

“Mother !” said the cheery voice of Roland Thorn- 
croft a moment later, as he opened the door, “would 
not these young gentlemen like a good skate on the 
meadow pond ? It has been swept by the wind, and 
is capital ice.” 

Jack Beecham looked at his watch. It was already 
four o’clock. 

“We are thankful,” he said, “but I am afraid we 
must do without that pleasure. It is quite time we 
started for home.” 

Husband looked at wife. She nodded, and then 
he nodded. Something was settled between them. 

“Don’t you like skating, boys ? I thought you did, 
seeing each had a pair of skates along.” 

“Very much, sir,” said Tom Shealey, “but we must 
be starting now.” 


88 


AN AFTERNOON’S FUN 


*'Come along, then. Bring your skates. There is 
no wind and it is not nearly as cold as it was this 
morning. You will not want your top-coats.” 

The boys looked puzzled. The host saw the look 
of mystification on their faces. He burst into a 
merry laugh. 

‘‘You simple children!” he said, as soon as he 
could. “Do you think that after being our guests 
all day, and singing for us as you have done, we are 
going to let you walk home! No, no. You just get 
your skates and come along with me. I’ll show you 
the finest piece of ice in the country. You can skate 
there for an hour or an hour and a half. By that 
time coffee will be ready, eh, mammy? And a 
bobsleigh. We are going to have just the finest, 
most musical sleighride this evening you ever 
saw, or heard. You had better come along, mother, 
too.” 

“Really, I have half a mind to.” 

“Do, do, do, Mrs. Thorncroft; do, do!” chorused 
the boys. 

“I will see by the time you return for supper.” 

When the time came for starting, however, she 
decided to stay at home. She had prepared a lunch 
for the journey, for there was no time now for a 
formal supper. After each boy had taken a bowl of 
steaming coffee, she bade them adieu. Such hand- 
shakings ! Such good-byes ! The jolly lads subdued 
their merriment momentarily when she kissed each 
one a farewell on the brow. It was a beautiful 
moment in each one’s life and was never forgotten 
by any of them. 

They had a glorious ride in the moonlight and 
the frost. And so it happened that six merry boys 
came joyously into the college yard at about seven 
o’clock, happy, tired, excited, and chattering like 


AN AFTERNOON^S FUN 89 

magpies about the unexpected good time they had 
enjoyed. 

“I am glad the plan worked/’ said Mr. Shalford 
to himself. The boys never learned that the dinner 
at Thorncroft’s was a prearranged affair. As soon 
as he had decided to send Henning and his com- 
panions out for a day’s change, the prefect had told 
one of the farmhands to get a fast horse and arrange 
with the Thorncrofts for the boys’ entertainment. 
He had suggested to Tom Shealey and Jack Beecham 
the best route to take without arousing their sus- 
picions, and everything had happened just as he had 
planned. Some men are positively ingenious in their 
charity. 


CHAPTER XII 


Reports 

P erhaps it was not the wisest course to have pur- 
sued, after all, on the part of the prefect, to 
have allowed all the boys who were present 
at the discovery of the theft to be absent for the 
whole day. Twelve hours was ample time for a 
number of rumors to be born, grow strong, and 
become, in the minds of some, established facts. 
There were, unfortunately, all too many willing to 
believe, not maliciously but thoughtlessly, the wildest 
and most absurd report. A few were anxious to 
find something more than a mere misfortune in that 
which had befallen the treasurer. These did not 
hesitate to sit in judgment on their fellows, to dis- 
cuss and impute intentions which with knowledge 
any less than omniscient they could not possibly 
possess. 

Almost as soon as the discovery had been made, 
the news spread like wildfire through the yard. Ex- 
cited boys gathered in groups and discussed the 
situation. It was certainly the biggest sensation St. 
Cuthbert’s had witnessed in many a day — more 
exciting than the Deming affair. The rumors were 
legion and as contradictory as numerous. 

^‘Hi! Jones; have you heard the news?’^ asked 
Smithers, about half an hour after the discovery. 
‘‘No. What?” asked Rob. 

“Haven't heard of the robbery?” 

“No. What robbery? No one has stolen our 
costumes, have they?” 


90 


REPORTS 


91 


Rob Jones was full of the play of the night before, 
and just at this moment he considered the costumes, 
if not the most valuable, at least the most attractive 
things for a thief to make away with. 

“Costumes! Not much! Ifs cash. Hard-earned 
cash ; at least cash subscribed by other people. The 
delectable and very pious Henning has managed to 
lose seventy-two dollars which the boys had already 
subscribed for the cage.” 

“Managed to lose! I don^t understand. Speak 
plainer.” 

“I mean, then, that Roy has lost that money and 
the report is that he was robbed of it.” 

“You miserable cur!” said Rob Jones. 

In a flash he saw Smithers’ motive. There had 
evidently been a robbery. No matter how, or when, 
or where, without knowledge of any of the details 
whatever, Rob Jones was as sure .as he was sure of 
his own existence that Roy, big, generous, noble- 
hearted Roy, was guiltless of the least shadow of 
complicity. As soon as he realized that Smithers, 
in the mere telling of the event, was so coloring the 
facts by innuendo and sneer that Roy’s name would 
probably suffer, Jones became furiously angry. 

“You miserable cur!” he repeated, and made a 
spring for the other’s throat. Luckily the high collar 
he wore saved Smithers to some extent, or he might 
carry to this day some ugly marks. Jones fairly 
shook him, as a mastiff would shake a whelp. 

“You cur! Is this the way you would blacken 
one’s reputation! I tell you Roy is innocent, and 
you shall apologize to him for your dastardly in- 
sinuations. Come with me, come with me, I say,” and 
he began to drag the now frightened boy across the 
yard to where he thought Henning was. Smithers, 
trembling, began to say something, but it was un- 


92 


REPORTS 


intelligible, which is very likely to be the case when 
another has a strong hold on the speaker's throat. 

‘‘Hold on there, Jones. You can’t find Henning. 
He’s gone out. I saw him and several others leave 
about half an hour ago,” said John Stockley. A 
crowd had now gathered about the two. 

“A fight ! a fight !” was the word that ran around 
the yard. 

Rob Jones relaxed his hold, but did not release 
the boy. Holding his fist close to his captive’s face 
he said: 

“Now take it back, or I’ll thrash you till you can’t 
see.” 

“Wha — what did I say?” asked Smithers. 

“You know very well what you said. You said 
that the delectable and pious Henning had managed 
to lose seventy-two dollars of the boys’ money. 
That’s a lie. Take it back, or I’ll ” 

“It isn’t a lie,” whimpered the choking Smithers. 
“Didn’t he have charge of the money? And hasn’t 
it been stolen?” 

“But did he, as you say, manage to have it stolen ? 
That is, is he implicated in the theft, as you imply, 
or is he not? Speak out, man, if you have a spark 
of honor in you. Speak out, or I’ll thrash you if I 
have to leave here to-morrow.” 

Generous Rob ! There were few boys at the college 
at this time who knew that this same Rob Jones once 
played the role which Smithers was so unsuccessfully 
attempting. He had repented of that long ago, but 
never had there come a time, for which he had often 
wished, when he could safeguard another’s repu- 
tation, as a species of reparation for the damaging 
of Howard Hunter’s in the long ago. 

Irrespective of the idea that actuated him, Jones 
was quite convinced, even without knowing the 


REPORTS 


93 


simplest details, that Roy Henning must be free from 
all moral blame. Roy Henning was a boy whom 
Jones honored and loved. All these circumstances 
must be considered when we pass judgment on the 
vehement burst of passion which put young Smithers 
in danger of strangulation. He muttered some kind 
of apology to the absent Roy, and Jones with a 
positive grunt of disgust flung the frightened boy 
as far as he could send him. He stumbled along for 
several paces before regaining a steady footing. 
Mumbling something inaudibly, he slunk away, but 
more than one of the students saw an ugly, ominous 
look on his face as he went. 

“I hear all sorts of reports,” said Stockley; ‘‘tell 
us the true story, somebody.” 

There was no lack of talkers, and almost as many 
theories. Few versions of the affair agreed in sub- 
stantial. In the course of the morning all sorts of 
foolish rumors were flying around. One was, that 
Roy Henning had been caught in the act of pocket- 
ing the money and had been instantly expelled. In 
confirmation of this, the question was asked : “Where 
is he? No one has seen him since the discovery!” 
Another busy rumor had it that six boys were im- 
plicated and had been summarily dismissed. 

“Did not the President see six boys off the 
premises this morning?” was advanced as a reason 
for this wild guess. Robert Jones, the absent boy's 
champion, happened to hear this last stupid remark. 

“You set of babbling geese! You lot of old 
women! Here you go and jabber away people's 
reputations as easily as Oh ! you make me sick ! 
Look here, you fellows, those six boys, and Henning 
among them, are out for a day's holiday. I say the 
President would rather send home six dozen dull- 
heads such as you fellows, than these six. They 


94 


REPORTS 


have been given a privilege that you ninnies would 
never get if you were here fifty years. Mark my 
words ! To-morrow morning I shall call upon some 
of you brainless gossips — some of you silly babblers 
— to repeat before them what you have the im- 
pudence to say behind their backs.” 

In this manner Rob Jones did much to keep down 
the public excitement, and to reduce all stupid talk 
to a minimum. Mr. Shalford, also, had put some- 
thing of a quietus on many senseless and ugly 
remarks which some malicious or thoughtless boys 
had set afloat. While admitting that the loss of the 
money was to be deplored, he did all in his power 
to exonerate Henning. 

‘‘Although the loss is severe,” he said, “yet after 
all no one individually suffers much. It is true that, 
probably, we shall not be able this winter to purchase 
the much-wished-for cage. Well, we have never had 
one yet, and we can wait a little longer. The whole 
affair might have worn a much worse aspect than it 
does. Suppose it had been one of our own boys that 
had been guilty ! I shudder to think of such a thing ! 
Now do not spread idle and useless conjectures as 
facts. We shall endeavor strenuously to discover 
the thief, and until he is discovered it were better to 
make no rash surmises. Especially must we refrain 
from accusing any one of the crime until we have 
positive proof of his guilt, and until he is discovered 
it were better and safer to make no surmises. Some 
very stupid rumors have already reached me. Pray 
do not lose all credit for common-sense. Let every 
boy act with moderation and justice. No one has a 
right to constitute himself a judge of his fellows. 
If any well-grounded suspicious circumstance comes 
to light, I am the one to be consulted and no other.” 

With such sensible remarks, and Rob Jones' gen- 


REPORTS 


95 


erous defense of his absent friend, much of the ex- 
citement had died down before the return of the six 
excursionists. 

When they arrived, wrapped in buffalo robes and 
hoarse from singing on the way, all the boys had 
assembled in the college theater to hear a burnt-cork 
minstrel entertainment and to listen to the orchestra. 
Supper was prepared for them in the infirmary, and 
they were told that they might occupy beds there 
“for one night only” if they wished to avail them- 
selves of that privilege. 

Thus it happened that Roy Henning and his 
friends met none of the boys that night. They had 
no opportunity of judging the public pulse until the 
next morning. Tired as Henning was from the 
I exercise and the strain and excitement of the day, 
he could not sleep. After tossing from one side to 
the other for an hour he got up, ' and, throwing a 
blanket around him, sat at the window and began to 
do the worst possible thing under the circumstances. 
He began to think and brood. 


CHAPTER XIII 


What Henning Remembered 

T here was much in Roy Henning’s disposition 
to make him a creature of temperament. Had 
he not been so strong and muscular one would 
sometimes be inclined to imagine that he was 
possessed of the peculiarly feminine accomplishment, 
yclept ‘‘nerves.” For the least reason, and some- 
times apparently for none, he was all exhilaration 
and enthusiasm. On such occasions everything was 
the brightest of bright rose-color, and the failure of 
a project in hand was not even to be dreamed of. 

Should anything go ever momentarily wrong in a 
pet scheme, he became the veriest pessimist. All 
would go wrong; all the world was conspiring 
against him. If it rained at such times, even nature 
herself was in league against him. 

While he was to a large extent a creature of tem- 
perament, it must not be supposed that he had not 
a high appreciation of manly qualities. None, per- 
haps, at St. Cuthbert’s, certainly none of his day, 
had loftier ideals. With these and with his splendid 
physique he represented as fair a type of Catholic 
early manhood as could be found. 

Henning had one peculiar trait, and to this may 
be traced much of the trial and vexation to which 
he had already been subjected, and much of which 
was to fall to him for the remainder of his time at 
St. Cuthbert’s. He remained too much self-centered. 
This was frequently an occasion of trouble to him. 
An instance : it will be remembered that he was told 
96 


WHAT HENNING REMEMBERED 


by his director not to tell any one save his parents of 
his intention of entering the ecclesiastical state. He 
took this advice as absolute, and on it molded his 
conduct, with what inconvenience to himself we have 
already seen. 

It is not to be wondered at, then, that he kept his 
thoughts and his fears and troubles arising from the 
loss of the money to himself. All that day, except 
that first burst of grief, he made no outward mani- 
festation of what he was feeling or suffering. Of 
course he was thus depriving himself of the sym- 
pathy and help which his friends were only too ready 
to offer. Actuated by the highest of supernatural 
motives, he nevertheless deprived himself in his 
difficulties of the guidance and assistance of a faith- 
ful friend. Roy had yet to learn that troubles told 
into sympathizing ears are more than half healed. 
Small wonder then, with this habit of reserve, if the 
circumstances in which he found himself on this 
holiday night of Christmas week paved the way for 
a very gloomy meditation. 

He recalled his early school-days. Why had he 
been so unlike other boys at school and at college? 
They were always full of self-assertiveness and self- 
reliance; he had always been timid and retiring. 
Perhaps it was the reflection of that timidity he had 
always felt in the presence of his father. Had his 
college life been a happy one? Unfortunately, for 
the most part, no. Not until last year — one year 
out of seven — when he had the company and full 
sympathy of such noble characters as Howard Hun- 
ter, Claude Winters, Harry Selby, Frank Stapleton, 
and others. With such characters as those he could 
not help being happy. But all these had gone; 
passed out of his life. Oh, if some of them were 
here now to help and show him what to do ! 


98 WHA T HENNING REMEMBERED 

Those dear boys ! And oh, that visit to Rosecroft, 
and that nearly fatal accident when he so narrowly 
escaped being struck by the chute boat! There was 
this consolation, that if the clouds thickened around 
him he would get Ambrose Bracebridge to take him 
over to Rosecroft Manor. There was Mrs. Brace- 
bridge there, who would understand him and who 
could always help and direct and encourage him. 

Thinking of her, Roy became more cheerful. I 
have said that he was a creature of temperament. 
Here it served him in good turn. He began to take 
a brighter view of the trials he knew awaited him 
on the morrow. Was he not entirely innocent? Who 
would dare to impugn his character ? He would face 
all bravely, explain how he discovered the theft, and 
blame himself publicly for his imprudence in keeping 
so much money locked in a common table drawer. 
Then who would dare to say a word against his in- 
tegrity ! All would pass over soon. He would write 
a full account to his father, who would doubtless 
make good the loss. 

‘‘By the way,’" he suddenly thought, half aloud, 
“am I responsible? Must I make restitution of the 
lost money ?’’ This was a puzzling question which he 
could not decide. He determined to consult his 
spiritual director the first thing in the morning. But 
wouldn’t he like to catch the thief ! 

This last thought led him to a mental survey of all 
persons who might possibly be guilty. To his credit, 
he spurned the idea that any one of the college boys 
could be the culprit. No St. Cuthbert boy could do 
such a thing, and if by chance it should happen to be 
a student, were they not all Catholic boys ? Would 
not the first confession the thief made result in a 
full restitution of the ill-gotten goods ? He had little 
hope that any such thing would occur, but he had 


WHA T HENNING REMEMBERED 99 

not the slightest idea that any college student would 
prove to be the delinquent. 

He endeavored to imagine a way the theft could 
have been accomplished. It must have been com- 
mitted between seven o'clock on Wednesday night 
and six on Thursday morning, when the boys rose. 
It could not have been done later than a minute or 
two after six, because it was the custom of a number 
of boys who were in training to use the playroom as 
a kind of indoor running-track immediately upon 
rising and before they took their shower bath. 

He remembered that the door of the committee- 
room had been locked by himself in the evening just 
before the play began. It is true that the only win- 
dow of this room was not fastened, but there were 
iron bars on the outside. He remembered now that 
one of these bars — they were half above ground 
and half in a window well which \yas covered by an 
iron grating, that one of these bars was loose, for 
he now recalled the fact that yesterday he had seen 
a boy move one of them with his foot as he stood 
on the grating. Could the thief have gone through 
the window ? 

Henning suddenly clutched his chair in the 
greatest excitement. There had flashed into his 
memory an incident which he had witnessed the 
night before, but which until this very moment had 
not come to his memory. 

He remembered now that after the play last night 
he stood at the Philosophy classroom window, and 
across the yard he had seen a boy crouching down 
at these very bars. He had paid little attention at 
the time, as his mind was full of the Richelieu he had 
just played. The electric light in the yard was so 
located that it put the boy, the window, and one third 
of the sidewalk in deep shade. The other part of 


100 WHAT HENNING REMEMBERED 


the sidewalk was very bright. He now remembered 
that when he first saw the boy he was in a crouching 
position. He had not paid much attention, and other 
things occupying his mind, he soon forgot all about 
it. What was that other thought? Ah! now he 
remembered. It was that wretched attempt to spoil 
the second scene of the play. He now recalled that 
for some time he forgot all about the boy at the 
grating but when he did think of him again he re- 
membered seeing the boy as if he were just rising 
from his knees, which, as he stood, he brushed with 
his hand. At the time the boy received very little 
attention from Roy, who now remembered having 
vaguely wondered why any one was out in the yard 
when all, except the players, were in the chapel at 
evening prayers. Chapel bell had sounded immedi- 
ately after the play, so the actors could not divest 
themselves of paint and disguises in time to at- 
tend. 

Who could that boy have been? Last night Hen- 
ning was not interested enough to find out. To-night 
he would give a great deal to know. He remembered 
now that the person, whoever he was, wore a black 
soft felt hat, which was pulled down well over his 
eyes and hid a great portion of his face. A soft felt 
hat would not identify any one. There were dozens 
of them in the yard. Oh, if he could only remember 
how the boy was dressed I 

‘‘Great heavens!’' he ejaculated aloud in sudden, 
intense excitement. 

He arose and clutched the blanket around him and 
folded his hands across his breast. His face was very 
white. He trembled. He began to pace the floor, 
muttering as one demented, or at least as one under 
the strongest stress of excitement. Great beads of 
perspiration stood out on his forehead. At one time 


WHAT HENNING REMEMBERED loi 


he thought he was going to faint. He had made a 
discovery, and the discovery sickened him. 

The boy he saw at the window grating had worn 
a blue sweater! 

“No, no, no, no !’’ said Roy to himself many times. 
“I can’t — I won’t believe it. I must be mistaken. 
It can not be he! No, no! Yet no one else has a 
sweater of that color !” 

By this time he had left his room and was ex- 
citedly pacing up and down the lengthy corridor. 
Luckily he was barefooted, or he would have dis- 
turbed everybody. The more he thought over his 
discovery the more he became convinced of the 
identity of the burglar. His conviction and wretch- 
edness grew in proportion. 

“It can not be ! It can not be ! Impossible ! Im- 
possible!” he muttered, as he strode up and down. 
“Andrew is mean in many things,, but not a common 
felon! It can not, can not be true!” and he was 
hoping against hope for his family’s sake. 

Henning was never so excited in his life. For a 
long time he walked up and down on the cocoa- 
matting. His blanket trailing behind him, often 
caught the leaden binding of one of the strips of 
matting. This would be raised about a foot and fall 
with a bang; his excitement prevented him from 
noticing the noise he was making. 

Not so the old infirmarian, whose room was at 
the end of the corridor. Peering out, he at first 
thought he saw a ghost. But ghosts do not trip on 
cocoa-matting. He followed the disturber of his 
repose. Henning, still under pressure of strong ex- 
citement, walked the whole length of the corridor. 
He turned suddenly to encounter the angry in- 
firmarian. 

“Oh, it’s Henning! What are you doing at this 


102 WHAT HENNING REMEMBERED 


unearthly hour of the night, disturbing my sleep?” 
said the old man in an unusually sharp tone for him, 
for he was generally mild and kindly. The official 
at first thought it was an ordinary case of somnam- 
bulism, but he soon found Henning to be very wide- 
awake. 

“Tve found it — the secret. IVe got it,” ex- 
claimed Roy in excitement. 

‘T guess you have — bad,” said the old man with 
grim humor. ‘‘Well, if you boys will fill yourselves 
up with rich plum-pudding and cake in the daytime, 
you must expect to suffer at night. There now, get 
back into bed, and don’t disturb the whole house with 
your nonsense.” 

“Oh, if I were only sure, I would settle the whole 
thing to-morrow,” muttered Roy. It is doubtful if, 
in his excited condition, he had seen the infirmarian 
at all. 

“ni settle you in the morning if you don’t get 
back to bed at once. Get now.” 

But Roy did not move. He had lapsed into a 
thoughtful mood. He stood, with his chin on his 
hand, motionless. 

“Do you hear me, boy? It’s time to stop this 
Indian ghost-dance business. There’s no sense in 
breaking an old man’s rest. Get to bed.” 

The infirmarian was fully persuaded that the 
whole affair was only a practical joke, such as even 
sick boys, or those, at least, who sometimes get 
passed into the infirmary on the plea of sickness, are 
not always above playing. Seeing that Henning did 
not move or pay any attention to his words, the in- 
firmarian took hold of his shoulders and gave him 
a vigorous shaking. This operation had the effect 
of bringing the distracted boy down to the knowledge 
of mundane things at once. 


WHA T HENNING REMEMBERED 103 

*‘Eh! oh, ah!’^ he said in a bewildered, sheepish 
way. ‘^Fve made — a horrible — discovery !” 

'‘You’ll make another very unpleasant one in the 
morning if you don’t get into bed at once. Don’t 
cause any more disturbance.” 

Without another word Henning went back to his 
room, and softly closed the door. He did not get 
into bed, but continued his ruminations. 

“Andrew ! Andrew !” he moaned, “I did not think 
it would come to this !” 

He dropped his head on the window-sill and 
thought for a long, long time. It was in some 
degree a contest between self-interest and family 
pride. It was a long struggle, and the result of these 
cogitations he announced to himself as he threw the 
blanket from his shoulders across the bed. They 
were comprised in two short sentences : 

“I must keep silence ! I will keep silence !” 

The decision may have been fanciful, or it may 
have been heroic. We shall see later. It led him 
into complications, the nature of which he little 
dreamed. 


1 


CHAPTER XIV I 

Facing the Boys | 

i 

W HEN Roy Henning entered the college chapel j 
at half-past six to attend Mass, his move- • 
ments from the time he appeared at the door 
until he had taken his seat were watched by many j 
scores of pairs of curious eyes. To even the small i 
boys, who came near the big fellows only in the ^ 

chapel, Roy was an object of deep interest, for by ^ 

some means the reports and rumors of the big yard 
had seeped through to the small division, and the i 
most wonderfully distorted stories had been circu- V 

lated. Henning had been attacked, fought desper- i 

ately, conquered and bound, three men single-handed. J 
He had been captured and carried away by burglars J 
(wasn’t he absent all day?) to their cave, and gained 
his liberty by the most daring feats of skill and 
bravery ! Young imaginations are active, and young 
tongues more so. v 

The Philosophers — Henning’s class — occupied 
the front benches in the chapel. When Bracebridge 
and Henning came in they had as yet met no boys 
since the public knowledge of the discovery of the 
robbery. Roy was in some peculiar way quite con- 
scious that his advance along the aisle was causing 
quite a commotion, although its manifestation was 
decorous on the part of the boys, owing to the place 
in which they were gathered, and to their reverence 
for its divine Guest. V 

Rob Jones occupied the outer seat of the bench. ') 
As the two friends were passing him he turned his ^ 
104 


FACING THE BOYS 


105 

knees aside for them to do so and took Roy’s hand 
and gave it a warm squeeze. The pressure was 
gratefully returned. Roy took heart. Much 
strengthened by this show of sympathy, he de- 
termined to meet all inquiries after breakfast and 
give all the information he possessed to any one who 
should ask. 

His regret over the loss was as poignant as when 
it was first discovered, but in some way he now felt 
that he could face all the boys and answer all their 
questions. He could not have done this the day 
before. Perhaps Jones’ unspoken sympathy had 
given him courage. 

As he expected, a large group gathered around 
him after breakfast. 

^‘How did it all happen?” asked John Stockley, 
anxious to learn the particulars down to the minutest 
detail. 

Henning gave them all the information he pos- 
sessed. When the discussion had died down a little, 
he said : “As far as I can see, the thief must have 
entered through the window.” 

“From the yard side, or the garden side?” 

“There is but one window, if you remember, in 
the committee-room, and that is on the yard side. 
All the windows on the garden side are in the play- 
room outside the committee-room.” 

“That’s true, come to think of it,” said Stockley ; 
“but could not the thief have gone in by the play- 
room by way of the partition door?” 

“I do not think so,” answered Roy, “because, you 
know the door has a Yale lock, and I am the only 
one who has a key to it, except Mr. Shalford.” 

“It is not likely that he robbed the drawer,” said 
Stockley with a laugh. “We are all very sorry for 
you and you have our sympathy.” 


io6 


FACING THE BOYS 


Stockley looked around, and the others in the 
group nodded in affirmation. 

‘‘Thanks. You are very kind. You can not regret 
this occurrence more than I do, especially since I 
failed to take Bracebridge’s advice to put the money 
in a safer place.’^ 

“It’s lucky that a fellow like you lost that money, 
and not a poor beggar like me,” remarked Smithers, 
who was standing on the outer edge of the gather- 
ing. Henning looked sharply at the speaker : 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Simply because a fellow like you who always has 
plenty of money will find no difficulty in replacing 
that which is gone. Such a thing would be im- 
possible for impecunious me,” and the speaker turned 
his empty trousers’ pockets inside out, and spun 
around on his heel. A few laughed, but the majority 
were silent, not liking the clownish exhibition of 
bad taste. 

Henning was, naturally under the circumstances, 
in a nervous condition. He at once suspected that 
this Smithers was merely the spokesman of many 
others, and that he was expressing their sentiments 
as to what his line of action should be. Whether 
he acted judiciously or not in this immature stage of 
developments, we leave to subsequent events to de- 
termine. He replied, and rather warmly, too : 

“I don’t know so much about that, Smithers. It 
may turn out to be the misfortune of all, at least of 
all who contributed. I really do not remember 
whether you gave anything or not. I shall certainly 
not make up the loss unless the President fully con- 
vinces me that I am under obligation to do so. I am 
going to see him now. Even should he decide against 
me I do not know whether I shall be able to replace 
the money.” 


FACING THE BOYS 


107 


A faint murmur of surprise and dissatisfaction, 
Henning was convinced, ran through the increasing 
group, as he, in company with Bracebridge, moved 
away toward the President’s office. 

The two walked slowly away from the crowd of 
boys. Bracebridge appeared to be thinking deeply. 
He had something to say, but hesitated to say it. 
Ambrose, with the instincts of a born gentleman, 
was always extremely careful of the feelings of 
others. 

‘‘Roy!” 

“Yes.” 

“You said just now to that cad of a fellow that 
you did not know ” 

“Whether I should be able to repay the money. 
Yes. What of it?” 

“That is a startling statement ” 

“Not so very. But in the first place I am not at 
all sure that I shall be held responsible. Look here, 
Brose ” 

They stopped at the foot of the steps leading to 
the President’s room. 

“Look here. Supposing there had been a fire, and 
the money had been burned. I should not have been 
told to restore it, should I ?” 

“I do not know that you would be held.” 

“Now if one undertakes to hold money tempo- 
rarily for others, and takes ordinary precautions for 
safe-keeping, do you think he would be held re- 
sponsible for it if it were stolen?” 

“But the safer plan would have been ” 

“Am I held to take the safer plan ? Of course, I 
regret that I did not take the safer plan, as you sug- 
gested, but am I held to have taken the safer plan? 
Wasn’t the ordinary precaution sufficient ? The door 
of that room was locked, the drawer of the table was 


io8 


FACING THE BOYS 


locked, and it was not generally known that I kept 
the money there at all.’’ 

“You seem to make out a good case for yourself,” 
said Bracebridge laughing, “but we will let the Presi- 
dent decide the case. It is too hard for us. But I 
did not intend to talk about that.” 

“What then,' old fellow?” 

“You told Smithers, for the benefit of the whole 
yard I take it, that you did not know whether you 
would be able to pay back the money. Now I 
thought ” 

But he stopped awkwardly upon seeing the deep 
blushes suffuse Henning’s brow. What had he said ? 
Were these blushes of shame or vexation? What 
could possibly be the matter ? 

“I — I — thought — that — I thought he 

stammered, at a loss how to proceed. 

“Go on, old man. I know that whatever you 
would say, you do not intend to wound me.” 

“Thank you, Roy. That’s perfectly true. But per- 
haps I should not have broached the subject at all.” 

“Go on ; go on.” 

“Well, if you insist. I thought that you always 
had plenty of money. From what you say it seems 
that this is not the case. Now if — if you will allow 
me — if I might — if you would not be offended — 
if — oh! you understand me, Roy,” he blurted out 
at last. “I want to help you pay it back.” 

Henning did not speak : indeed he could not have 
done so just at that moment. There was a very big 
lump in his throat. He hemmed and coughed once 
or twice, but that only made it worse. Bracebridge 
saw his friend’s embarrassment, but did not speak. 
He took Roy’s hand. 

“I understand — true friend,” said Roy, huskily, 
“but I can not explain.” 


FACING THE BQYS 


109 


He was silent for some time. He then said, partly 
to himself and partly aloud — ‘‘but I can. Why 
should I not do so? He is true and loyal. My 
father put no conditions of secrecy on me, or on his 
strange action. Ambrose?” 

“Well?” 

“Will you listen to me?” 

“Of course I’ll listen to you.” 

“Thank you. In order that you may know why 
I believe I shall not be able to pay back that money, 
I must first tell you of a peculiar thing my father has 
thought fit to impose upon me.” 

“Go ahead then, but since confidences are in order, 
let me tell you one first, which will make your story 
easier to tell, more probably. Next year you are 
going to study for the priesthood !” 

“How on earth did you learn that ?” 

“At the Little Sisters’ dinner. I was an unin- 
tentional eavesdropper, and I heard you say to the 
chaplain, as I was passing with some dish or some- 
thing, these words — ‘for my own diocese : next 
year.’ Let me congratulate you, Roy, on your 
choice. I have always thought ever since I first 
knew you that you were worthy of that high calling.” 

“You do surprise me, indeed,” said Roy, “but your 
knowledge does not make my story the easier to tell.” 

Roy Henning then told Ambrose of his desire to 
enter the seminary, of his broaching the subject to 
his father during the last vacation, and of the strange 
test to which his father had thought fit to subject 
him. 

“Now, Ambrose,” he said, when he had finished 
his narration, “you may understand my conduct in 
refusing to play ball this year, on account of which 
so many of the boys seemed so disappointed. I have 
met with so many annoyances since last September 


no 


FACING THE BOYS 


that more than once before this loss of yesterday I 
had all but determined to leave old St. Cuthbert’s, 
and be quit of it all. I would have done so if it had 
not been for you and Jack and Tom.” 

“I am sincerely glad you did not.” 

‘Well, I do not know whether I am. But let me 
go back to my subject. You see, that with my 
father’s present peculiar view of things, it is by no 
means certain that he will make good this loss, and 
if he refuses I shall be in a bad pickle.” 

“Oh, Roy!” said Bracebridge, with a vehemence 
that was almost passion, “let me do it. Let me do it 
for you. You know my father. You know that he 
has every confidence in me; he is not a crank, 
and ” 

“Stop, Ambrose,” said Roy, “I can not allow you, 
even by implication, to speak disrespectfully of my 
father. That I do not understand his motives is true. 
That it is mighty hard on me is equally true, but he 
is my father.” 

“There !” said the other in dismay. “I am always 
putting my foot into it. Forgive me. I didn’t mean 
anything; indeed I did not. Oh! Roy, you know 
what I mean. Let me help you out of this. It’s as 
easy as A-B-C, you know. No one need know. 
Pshaw! one would be a poor friend, if, when quite 
able, he should hang back.” 

“Thanks, dear old fellow. Many thanks. We will 
see. We will see. If it comes to the worst, I won’t 
hesitate to talk to you again about this. In the 
meantime we will drop it for the present.” 

With this Ambrose had to be content. The two 
friends then rapped at the President’s door. 


CHAPTER XV 


Suspicions 

U PON the whole, Roy Henning was well pleased 
with the manner in which the boys had received 
him. Over-sensitive as he was, he had ex- 
pected that they would either accuse him of com- 
plicity, or openly blame him for the loss of the 
money. Taken altogether, they behaved remarkably 
well. The majority had real sympathy for him in 
the awkward position in which he found himself. 

With a fine regard for his feelings, no one, after 
Roy’s first announcement of his probable incapacity 
to refund, mentioned openly to him the question of 
restitution. Everybody understood that the Presi- 
dent had arrived at some decision on this point, but 
all were in the dark as to its nature. 

The days passed into weeks. Every effort was 
made to trace the thief, but without success. It 
became finally the general conclusion that some out- 
sider, in no way connected with the college, was the 
culprit, and that he had gotten off safely with his 
booty. But in the many impromptu committees, or- 
ganized in moments of unusual zeal for the purpose 
of ‘‘doing something,” the unanswerable difficulty 
always arose — “How could a stranger know there 
was money in that particular room of the dozens in 
the college ?” 

The pitcher’s cage was not purchased that winter. 
It was noticed by the boys that Andrew Garrett, as 
far as they could observe, never once spoke to his 
cousin about the loss. Roy, owing to the result of 

III 


II2 


SUSPICIONS 


the thoughts of the sleepless night he had spent in the 
infirmary, imagined that Garrett had good reasons 
for keeping clear of him. 

He was keenly alive to Garrett’s every action, re- 
sulting from what he believed to be well-grounded 
suspicions. He did not fail to notice one peculiarity 
on the part of his cousin. Very soon after the 
robbery Garrett discarded the sky-blue sweater which 
had made him so conspicuous a figure in the yard 
ever since September. Roy confessed to himself 
that he was unable to attach any importance to this. 

The theft had been too genuine a sensation at the 
college for all discussion to die out soon. In the 
course of time the whole yard appeared to be divided 
into two factions or parties. One side was loyal and 
strenuous in upholding Henning, claiming him to be 
beyond reproach and spotless in his integrity. As 
may be surmised, the leaders of this party were Jack 
Beecham, Tom Shealey, Ambrose Bracebridge, and 
Rob Jones, the first defender of Roy in his absence. 
These companions knew Henning well. They called 
him ‘‘Don Quixote.” They teased him often, yet 
they knew that he was the soul of honor. Any one 
of these would as soon suspect himself as cast sus- 
picion on Roy. 

The existence of this party was the outgrowth of 
a popular indignation against a few boys who had, 
in discussing the robbery, persistently left the im- 
pression that they considered that there was an un- 
satisfactory mystery about it. 

Out of kindness to Roy, little — scarcely anything 
— of what his friends heard in the yard reached his 
ears. When he did not happen to be present his 
friends were by no means backward in denouncing 
the opposition. 

Henning asked no questions, even of his friends. 


SUSPICIONS 


113 

Yet by a kind of unconscious assimilation he became 
aware of the strong sentiment against him, and of 
the strong resentment of those opposed to him. 
These things he learned more by averted glances and 
partially concealed avoidances than by overt act or 
speech. He never mentioned this to his friends, who 
thought he did not observe it. No one had ever told 
him of Jones’ catlike spring at the throat of 
Smithers, yet Roy learned of it in some way, and 
while he was filled with gratitude toward Jones it 
only tended to confirm his own opinion that there 
was a large party antagonistic to him. 

There was now only a mere speaking acquaintance 
between Henning and Garrett, which, as cousins, 
they could not avoid. They observed the merest 
civilities. 

About the middle of February Henning and his 
friends were surprised to note that Garrett was 
spending money very freely. He had always 
availed himself of every little luxury that could be 
purchased within the college bounds, but now it 
seemed that he was more lavish than ever. Spring 
was approaching. Garrett purchased two or three 
baseball bats, a fine shield, mask, catcher’s glove, 
and a number of the best baseballs. He evidently 
paid the highest prices, for upon inquiry it was 
found he had had no communication with the prefect, 
or with the sports’ committee who usually secured 
some discount for cash. Clothes, shoes, hats, and 
ties were also lavishly purchased. What could it all 
mean ? To add to the mystery Stockley and that boy 
Smithers, who had turned his pockets inside out in 
proof of his impecuniosity, were also spending con- 
siderable money, although a much less amount than 
Garrett. 

All this, of course, strengthened Roy’s suspicions. 


SUSPICIONS 


1 14 

Where did he get all the money? And why was he 
making such a lavish display? Roy was, neverthe- 
less, puzzled by the evident fact that while all noticed 
Garrett’s free purchasing, no one appeared to suspect 
him of any connection with the lost funds. 

Henning could not in conscience mention his 
suspicions to any one. If any one would but broach 
the subject, then he would talk and take advice on 
what was the best line of action to pursue. His 
common-sense told him that to accuse his cousin 
publicly on his mere suspicion would be worse than 
useless. 

To add to the complications of the situation, with- 
in a week or two of Garrett’s expenditures Roy him- 
self began to spend money freely. Where it came 
from was a mystery which was not cleared up for 
many a day. He expended quite a sum on books, 
baseball goods, shoes, etc. 

It is quite certain that Henning did not realize 
how large the majority was who were in opposition 
to him. Had he done so he would have acted with 
more discretion, for the time was critical for him. 
Even some of his best friends were sorely put to it 
to account for his outlay. More than one of his 
staunchest supporters began to waver in their alle- 
giance. No one doubted his integrity, but some 
were not pleased with his want of prudence. Before 
closing this narrative we shall explain where this 
money came from, why Roy bought the particular 
goods he did, and why he bought them at this par- 
ticular time. 

‘T wonder how it is,” said Smithers, “that Hen- 
ning has so much money to spend just now.” 

“Don’t know I’m sure, but I suppose it is all 
right,” replied Stockley. 

“But isn’t it strange that he who has been so close 


SUSPICIONS 


115 

all the year should change and be lavish so sud- 
denly 

‘‘Oh, come off! that’s an innuendo! Give the 
fellow a show. You are hinting that it is the sub- 
scription money he is now spending, and that, con- 
sequently, he was the thief.” 

“Oh, say, don’t put it that strong !” said Smithers 
uneasily. 

“But that’s what you mean, all the same. I don’t 
like him, but to do him justice, I don’t think — I’m 
sure — he had any hand in getting away with that 
money.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, because — because I don’t believe he had, 
that’s all.” 

“But that’s no proof.” 

‘^Didn’t say it was. I said it was my belief.” 

Just at that moment Bracebridge and Garrett 
joined the speakers. 

“Look here, Bracebridge,” said Smithers, “Stock- 
ley says that he doesn’t believe that Henning had 
anything to do with taking that money.” 

“I’m sick of all this talk,” said Ambrose angrily; 
“just as if any one who knew Henning at all could 
entertain such a thought for a moment !” 

“But why is he spending so much just now?” in- 
sinuated Smithers. 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. It’s none of our 
business anyway.” 

But he did care. He was very uneasy. He re- 
membered what Roy had told him of his home affairs. 
He was sorely puzzled, yet his loyalty did not waver. 

“For my part,” said Garrett, “although Henning 
is my relative and I am therefore naturally concerned 
in all that he does, I can not help thinking that his 
action is a little unfortunate.” 


ii6 


SUSPICIONS 


‘Tor your part,” retorted Ambrose, ‘‘and for your 
own credit, you had better say as little as you can.” 

“For my part I shall say what I choose, and to 
whom I choose.” 

“Then do not choose to say it to me, for I won't 
hear it,” and Ambrose walked away, very angry. 

“Humph ! the great mogul is getting quite huffy,” 
remarked Smithers. “Well, never mind, Garrett, for 
although Henning is your cousin you are not to 
blame if he falls under suspicion.” 

In his heart Garrett knew Henning was innocent. 
But he did not like him. He was jealous of him. 
He saw in him qualities of mind and heart which he 
knew he himself did not possess, and, as is the case 
with all small natures, he was jealous. He had 
neither the wish nor the courage to state his belief 
in Roy’s innocence. 

On the other hand Garrett despised Smithers. The 
boy was poor. Every one knew that. But poverty 
is no disgrace, and never at St. Cuthbert’s has it 
been a subject of reproach. There are some natures 
which become vicious because of their poverty. 
Smithers was one of these. He was one of those 
who, in season and out of season, was forever re- 
iterating what he called his suspicions. This was 
the more base, because, had there been any foun- 
dation for them, gratitude should have compelled him 
to remain silent. On more than one — on many 
an occasion — Henning had quietly and unostenta- 
tiously helped this boy out of little financial difficulties, 
such as paying his library fees and fines, securing for 
him tennis shoes, and little things of that kind. 

Garrett had just heard all this for the first time, 
and the better side of his nature at that moment, 
notwithstanding his strange remark to Bracebridge, 
was in the ascendant. Secretly he was ashamed of 


SUSPICIONS 


117 


his comradeship with Smithers, who was perhaps 
one of the most undesirable boys at St. Cuthbert’s. 

‘‘Shock” Smithers — so named on account of the 
permanently untidy condition of his hair — was, 
therefore, very much surprised indeed at what he 
next heard from Garrett. 

“Of course,” Garrett began, “as you speak with so 
much certainty about my cousin, you have positive 
proof of his guilt?” 

Smithers began to laugh. He thought that a good 
joke. 

“I see no laughing matter. I ask you a plain 
question. You have proof of Henning's guilt — 
which for some reason you are withholding?” 

“Not — not exactly proof, you know, but, eh — 
but you know, eh — you know as well as I do how 
suspicion points to him.” 

“Then you make all this to-do on mere suspicion?” 

“Of course. We have nothing more than sus- 
picions, have we?” 

“Yes, certainly. You must have more than sus- 
picion when you state publicly that Roy deserves to 
be in State's prison.” 

“I — I did not say that. I — ” 

“Yes, you did. I heard you myself, and on that 
I largely based my own judgment. Don't lie.” 

“I did not say that definitely, you know. I said 
that if what is said about him is true he ought to be 
there, Andy.” 

“You are a liar I I myself heard you say it, and 
what is more, I have only just now heard how Roy 
has been treating you ever since September, giving 
you books, money, and buying things for you. 
You're a skunk ! that's what you are.” 

Garrett walked away. Smithers was left in no 
enviable frame of mind. The principal part of his 


ii8 


SUSPICIONS 


chagrin arose, not from the fact that he had been 
mean and cowardly, but that it had been discovered 
that he had received assistance from any one, and 
especially from Roy Henning. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Roy Makes a Move 

R oy Henning gave much anxious consideration 
to the ugly tangle in which he found himself 
involved. He sincerely, but unavailingly, 
regretted that he had allowed himself to become the 
treasurer. Perhaps, he thought, if he had followed 
the letter of his father's wishes this unfortunate 
business would never have happened. 

The more he thought over what he remembered 
to have seen on the night of the play the more con- 
vinced he became of the guilt of one who would be 
the very last he could wish to be implicated. 

At times he doubted and wavered in his con- 
victions. Was he absolutely sure that it was his 
cousin whom he had seen that night? Could it not 
have been some one else? There was no one else 
in the yard who wore a blue sweater. He was 
sure he had seen this on the boy who had 
entered the window. Yet was he absolutely sure 
that it was Andrew? When he put this question 
to himself and demanded an answer, he always gave 
it unhesitatingly in the affirmative. Yet, strange to 
say, at other times he doubted the accuracy of his 
conclusions. Might he not be mistaken after all? 
There was a possibility. The figure was in the glare 
of the arc light so short a time, and in the shadow 
so much longer. Was it not possible that he was 
mistaken after all ? 

The size of the boy certainly corresponded with 
his cousin's build and height, but, after all, most 
119 


120 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


boys of about the same age resemble each other in 
build. Oh, if it had not been for that soft hat pulled 
down over the face! Could he have obtained but 
one glance at the face in the strong electric light 
there would be no hesitating. But this the thief took 
precautions against. The leaf of the hat was drawn 
well over the nose, making it impossible to see the 
face. 

There was no question about the blue sweater 
being there. The short black coat which Garrett 
usually wore over the sweater was there too. Was 
there a sufficient motive on the part of Andrew to 
commit such a crime? On this point the boy was 
much puzzled. Garrett, he knew, had plenty of 
money. There could be no pecuniary inducement to 
commit the crime. Ha, perhaps there was an induce- 
ment after all. Before Christmas had it not been an 
open secret that several boys had lost heavily — 
heavily for boys at school — on some foolish bet- 
ting? Mr. Shalford had heard of this foolishness, 
found out a few of the bets, and forced the winners 
to return the money. He had broken up, apparently, 
the habit which periodically becomes a temporary 
mania with a certain class of boys. Perhaps Garrett 
had lost a bet and wanted money I 

Henning could not believe that any personal pique 
against himself would be a sufficient inducement for 
his cousin to go to such lengths to gratify it. Felony 
is high payment for the gratification of spite. That 
threat of ‘‘getting even,” which Garrett had used 
against him last summer, Roy believed to be the ex- 
pression of a momentary vexation. It is certain he 
did not connect it with anything so serious as this 
robbery. Long ago he had forgotten it, and he 
supposed Andrew had done so too. 

What then, supposing it were he who had com- 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


I2I 


mitted the crime, could have been Garrett's motive? 
Roy could not fathom the difficulty. He had to 
leave it unsolved. He saw there was no proportion 
between Garrett's little pique and the enormity of 
this deed, which would forever brand the perpetrator 
as belonging to the criminal class. Surely Andrew 
had more sense than to do such a thing ; and yet ! 

“Why, oh ! why did I," said Roy to himself, “go 
mooning about and looking out of that window after 
the play that night! Why didn't I go to bed at 
once, like the rest? Then I would never have been 
haunted with this memory. I am going to get this 
thing settled, and that soon. I’ll see Garrett pri- 
vately if I can, publicly if I must. I will make him 
exonerate me from all suspicion. I can not imagine 
how any suspicion became attached to me. He would 
hardly dare to set it afloat. This thing has to come 
to an end, and that at once." 

These tormenting thoughts came to his mind one 
Sunday afternoon in early spring. Everything out of 
doors spoke of joy and cheerfulness. The trees had 
burst their buds, and the winter bareness of landscape 
had been once more turned into a thing of beauty. 
No trees were as yet in full leaf, but there was a 
delicate pale-green tracery on bough and twig, a 
sign of life and luxurious beauty later on, and full 
of the beauty of promise now. Beneath the feet the 
young grass was rich and soft, while here and there 
were seen the first white flowers in the vocal hedge- 
rows. 

Full of thoughts by no means attuned to the happy 
season, or in keeping with the loveliness of the day, 
Roy started out to find his cousin. He was just in 
the mood to “have it out" with him. He had worked 
himself up to a pitch of resolution, in which was 
blended no little anger at the injustice of his position. 


122 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


He was determined to have the wretched affair 
settled at once and forever. He was morally certain 
that no one save himself knew of his cousin’s sup- 
posed delinquency, because, he argued and probably 
correctly, if any one else had known it, it would 
have been divulged long ago. 

Searching the yard, study-hall, and gymnasium, 
as well as the large reading-room and playroom, he 
could find no trace of Garrett. 

“He is out walking, I suppose. Oh, well! I’ll 
catch him before supper and see what he has to say 
for himself.” 

Henning did not care to have his friends. Jack and 
Ambrose, with him just now. He wanted to be alone 
to think over the situation. With this object in view 
he went toward the college walk, a beautiful winding 
path, overshadowed by fine old elms, beeches, and 
oaks. Here and there along this half-mile of 
graveled way rustic seats had been placed for the 
convenience of the students. The path was irregu- 
larly circular. In the center the ground was much 
lower and was thickly covered with fine trees, whose 
tops in many instances barely reached the level of 
the footpath. On the outer side of the walk the 
ground rose and the slope was covered with noble 
forest trees. 

The softness of the spring verdure, the sweet 
caress of the warm air, the repose of this charming 
spot, and its complete sequestration from the peren- 
nial noise and bustle of the yards and ballfields, 
tended to soothe the irritated feelings of our friend. 
He went to the farthest limit of the walk without 
meeting a single friend. There he sat down on a 
bench to rest. In a few minutes he heard approach- 
ing footsteps on the gravel. Determined to let the 
intruder upon his thoughts pass on unnoticed, he 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


123 

did not raise his head from his hands as the walker 
approached. 

''Good afternoon, Roy.” 

Henning looked up and saw — Garrett. He was 
surprised by the way his cousin addressed him, for, 
never since the first week of the school-year had the 
cousins used any other form of address than their 
surnames. 

"Oh ! Good afternoon.” 

"Fine weather for early spring.” 

"Yes.” 

Roy saw that, by his manner, Garrett had some- 
thing to say, but he wanted just then to have the 
saying. At all events he was determined to say the 
first word of consequence. 

"I wonder you are willing to talk with me — are 
not afraid of being seen talking with me.” 

"I don’t see why you should ” 

Henning interrupted. He was quite ill-tempered 
this afternoon, and this was quite unusual with him. 

"No, you don’t see why,” he said. "You haven’t 
been the cause of my being suspected of that 
wretched thieving, have you I You are not hand and 
glove with those fellows who would stop at nothing 
if they could injure me.” 

"I must admit,” said the other, "I have heard a 
great deal some of them say.” 

"And of course believe it all, or pretend to.” 

"Pretend to ! What do you mean ?” 

"I mean that before them you pretended to believe 
me guilty. Knowing what you know, it must have 
been all a pretence.” 

"Knowing what I know ! What do you mean ?” 

"You know very well, indeed, what I mean.” 

"I do not.” 

"Yes, you do ; you are only pretending now. Your 


124 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


action now is of a piece with your whole conduct 
ever since December 28, when the money was taken.” 

“Roy Henning! what on earth do you mean? You 
are either crazy, or laboring under some great mis- 
take.” 

Garrett saw with alarm the trend of Henning’s 
remarks. Was his cousin going to charge him with 
the theft? He was very well aware that Roy’s 
charge, if he should make one, would receive much 
more credence in the yard than would any counter- 
charge against Roy. He became quite alarmed, for 
he was quick enough to see some very unpleasant 
consequences. His look of alarm tended to confirm 
Roy in his suspicions. 

“No wonder you look frightened, cousin — dear 
cousin — loving cousin,” said Henning sarcastically. 
He had a long time suffered greatly from innuendo 
and unfriendliness, but we must do Roy the justice 
to say that such a manner of speech was uncommon 
with him. Just at this moment he was nervous and 
over-irritable and had not complete control of him- 
self or of his words. 

“No wonder you look frightened,” he continued, 
“now that the tables are beginning to turn. I have 
borne suspicion and averted looks from the boys long 
enough. You have to bring about a change. You 
can do it.” 

“And how, pray?” Garrett was getting angry. 

“You know how very well. One word from you 
would clear me. And — you — have — got — to 
say it!” 

“It seems to me that you are taking leave of your 
senses. How on earth will one word of mine clear 
you ? The only way that could be done, it seems to 
me, would be to incriminate myself, and as to that 
— no, I thank you.” 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


I2S 

‘‘I care not one red cent whether you incriminate 
yourself or not. You must clear me — do you 
hear T' 

“I would like to know how, and, moreover, I 
would like to see you make me.” 

‘‘I can not — that is, I will not make you — but 
not for your own sake.” 

Henning remembered the promise he had made 
to himself of silence on the night he had spent in the 
infirmary. On the other hand Garrett was becoming 
very much afraid of his cousin. He had never seen 
him so excited or determined before. What did Roy 
know ? What could he tell to harm him ? He knew 
that his record with the faculty, and with the boys 
too, was not an enviable one. Whatever Roy would 
do he would undoubtedly be believed, and he realized 
that he would have hard work to disprove any 
allegations Roy might make. 

“You speak correctly when you say you can not,” 
Andrew retorted. 

“I do not ! I can make you if I will. For other 
reasons I do not wish it. You must do it without 
compulsion.” 

“Do what?” 

“Clear me. Clear me of all suspicion.” 

“It seems to me that in the present state of the 
boys' minds that would be impossible. In saying 
what I have said about you, Roy, I have only fol- 
lowed the lead of others. Things have been hinted 
so often that at last I began to believe some of them 
— at least partly believe them.” 

“You coward!” said Henning, now thoroughly 
angry. Both boys rose from the bench simultane- 
ously and faced each other. By a singular chance 
each had his hands in his pockets. It appeared for 
an instant that they were coming to blows. So 


126 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


strained was the situation, that if either had at that 
moment taken his hand from his pocket it would 
have been a signal for a fight. Henning’s face was 
white with anger. Garrett’s was red with appre- 
hension and vexation. 

“You are a coward,” repeated Henning; “you 
know a great deal about this affair.” 

Garrett thought best to deny all knowledge. 

“I do not.” 

“Indeed ! and I suppose you know nothing of the 
loosened bars of the window of the committee- 
room ?” 

“No.” 

“I thought not. And I suppose you know nothing 
of the boy who was seen to have gone through that 
window on the night of the play?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, no! Of course not. I suppose, too, there 
are half a dozen boys who sport sky-blue sweaters 
to make themselves conspicuous.” 

Henning waited a moment and Garrett said : 

“It is no one’s concern but my own what I wear.” 

“Well, my dear, affectionate cousin, that blue 
sweater was seen — seen, mind — that night to go 
through that window and come out again.” 

Garrett started violently. Henning took the 
motion for an admission of guilt, but Garrett had 
no intention of making such acknowledgment. In- 
deed he became as angry as Henning was. 

“Whether I am guilty or not, a question I abso- 
lutely decline to discuss, do you think, you jacka- 
napes, that I would admit it to you? Not if I know 
myself. Do you think I am going to swallow whole 
a story like that? You must think I am dreadfully 
green, or dreadfully afraid of you. If you have 
evidence, bring it forward. That you can, and will 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


127 


not, is to me, permit me to say, all buncombe. Bah ! 
You weary me! Do what you can and what you 
dare!’’ 

Snapping his fingers with a show of righteous in- 
dignation, Garrett walked away. If the boy were 
guilty, if it were he who was seen to enter the room 
through that window on the night of the theft, he 
now acquitted himself of a splendid piece of acting. 
If he were innocent, then his indignation were 
natural. Henning would then have to acknowledge 
that he had done him a gross injustice. But Roy 
was firmly convinced that his cousin had brazened 
the thing out. He regretted that he had let him 
know that he would not compel him to make an 
acknowledgment of his guilt. Roy had never ex- 
pected that he would do so. All he required from 
his cousin was that he would speak in his favor and 
make an effort to turn the tide of opinion, trusting 
in his friends for the rest. 

When Andrew Garrett moved away Roy’s first 
impulse was to follow him and compel a confession. 
Suddenly the thought came to him that perhaps he 
had blundered. Under the new and annoying im- 
pression he stood motionless until Garrett had dis- 
appeared along the winding walk. Once more, as 
his anger left him, he sat down and, head in hands, 
meditated on the ugly position in which he found 
himself, made worse than before if he had blundered. 

He began now to have doubts regarding the 
identity of the thief. Was it not just possible that 
some other person possessed a blue sweater as well 
as his cousin? Could he have been mistaken, after 
all ? The window from which he saw the thief was 
a hundred yards away. Could he, after all, positively 
identify a person at that distance at night ? Was he 
not too much excited after the successful Richelieu 


128 


ROY MAKES A MOVE 


performance to be in a condition to be certain ? He 
had taken only a casual glance at the figure, and it 
was more than twenty-four hours afterward that he 
had remembered the boy wore the fatal blue sweater, 
which he now began to realize was the one and only 
means of identifying his cousin. Garrett must have 
some good grounds for his steady and persistent 
denials ; yet that he should deny was not surprising 
to Roy for he knew his cousin fairly well. 

The young man would have remained long in his 
unpleasant and disturbing meditations had he not 
heard some one approaching, and singing some ridic- 
ulous parody which had recently ‘‘caughf ’ the yard, 
having been cleverly introduced into a recent debate 
on the relative importance of the Hibernians and the 
Anglo-Saxons in this country. It ran : 

“There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, 

The dew on his thin robe was beany and chill — 

Ere the ship that had brought him had passed out of bearin’. 
He was Alderman Mike, introducing a bill.” 

It was Jack Beecham’s happy voice, and his merry 
laugh echoed through the trees. At that moment, as 
he turned a bend in the walk, he caught sight of 
Roy. 

“Shame on the false Etruscan who lingers in his 
home,’’ he shouted. “Come on, Roy; Tom Shealey 
and myself are going for a good long tramp in the 
woods. Why, man, you look as doleful as a No- 
vember day. What’s up? Come on; a good walk 
will drive the blues away.” 

The two friends took Henning for a good long 
tramp, which is the most satisfactory curative 
process for driving away depression of spirits, set- 
tling one’s nerves, and banishing ill-temper. 


CHAPTER XVII 


Garrett is Angry 

W HEN Andrew left his cousin on the college 
walk he was in a very angry mood. He 
was quite sure that Henning did not know 
whether he was guilty or not, and he was satisfied 
that he had so guarded his words in his unexpected 
interview that Roy would not be able to take any- 
thing he had said as an admission of guilt. As soon 
as he discovered the drift of his cousin’s remarks he 
made up his mind that he would not be betrayed 
into any speech that afterward might be used against 
him. 

He had actually started out, as Henning had done, 
to find his cousin to talk with him. It will be re- 
membered that he had used a very conciliatory tone, 
and spoke to his relative by his Christian name. He 
was acting at the moment under one of the few good 
impulses that came to him at that period of his life. 
But all this was most unfortunately frustrated by 
Henning’s miserable ill-humor of the moment. 

Returning to the yard after this stormy interview, 
he met the two boys, who, unfortunately, exercised 
the worst influence over him of any boys in the 
school, Smithers and Stockley. Nothing could have 
been more inopportune than their presence just when 
he was sore in spirit and angry. He was sore and 
more or less ashamed at the part he had played in 
regard to his cousin’s reputation. He was not always 
without touches of compunction on this subject. He 
was angry, too, because of the recent interview. He 
129 


130 


GARRETT IS ANGRY 


knew that on account of this very anger he would 
very likely do more injury to Henning. His mind 
was in that state that made it ripe for any mischief 
these two worthies might suggest. 

“We have been looking for you, Garrett. Where 
have you been?” said Smithers. 

“Along the walk.” 

“Some one in the yard said you had gone hob- 
nobbing with your respectable relative,” remarked 
Stockley. 

“I was talking with him for a while, but not hob- 
nobbing, as you call it.” 

“What had he to say?” asked Smithers. There 
was an ugly, vindictive leer on Smithers’ face which 
Garrett never liked and which in his better moments 
he detested. He really despised him, and all his life 
he had never associated with this class of boy. Not 
being in very good humor, he said : 

“He had no compliments for you, at any rate.” 

“Didn’t expect he had. It’s not very likely that 
one hanging over a precipice with regard to his 
reputation, as he is, would have any compliments 
for any one. But what did he say, anyway ?” 

“Oh, nothing!” answered Garrett. “I find that 
he is more fully aware of the suspicions against him 
than I imagined. He is pretty sore under them, I 
can tell you.” 

Smithers’ eyes glittered with satisfaction. By a 
strange perversion he was pleased that Henning was 
suffering. Why ? The answer is difficult. Because, 
perhaps, Henning had done him many a good turn. 
In time of necessity he was glad enough to receive 
assistance. When better times came for him, he 
promptly forgot. He lacked gratitude. He was 
only one more exemplification of the old adage : “If 
you want to lose a friend, lend him money, and if 


GARRETT IS ANGRY 


131 

you want to gain an enemy put some one under great 
obligations to you.” 

‘‘Sore, is he? I can make him sorer still. Have 
you heard what has been found?” asked Smithers, 
looking first at Stockley and then at Garrett. 

Had the latter been a little more observant he 
would have noticed Smithers’ eyelids twitch in an 
unmistakably nervous way, and his fingers open and 
close spasmodically. 

“No, I have not. Not the stolen money, I sup- 
pose,” laughed Garrett mirthlessly. 

“Not much,” said Smithers, “that’s not likely to 
be found. I guess that’s gone for good.” 

“What then?” 

“A piece of writing I” 

“Whose?” 

“Henning’s.” 

“Of what nature? What has it to do with the 
suspicion in the yard?” 

“It has a good deal to do with it.” 

“Well, out with it, if you have anything to tell. 
I’m tired of this dallying. What’s up?” 

Garrett, still out of temper, was quite testy. It 
can be seen that he had very little respect for these 
boys. He made no pretense of choosing his words 
with them. 

Smithers, nothing daunted by the surly manner in 
which he had been addressed, after more or less 
fumbling, drew from the inside pocket of his coat a 
crumpled sheet of letter-paper. It bore the college 
printed address on the top, and was dated Decem- 
ber 23. 

“Whose writing is that, do you think?” asked 
Smithers. 

“I don’t know. Let me look at it. Yes, I do 
though ! It’s my cousin’s ! What does he say ?” 


132 GARRETT IS ANGRY 

He straightened out the creases and read the letter 
hurriedly. 

‘Thew! by all that’s great, this is a stunner!” said 
Garrett. 

The other two boys exchanged glances of satis- 
faction. Smithers’ eyelids twitched more than ever. 

‘‘Where did you get this from?” 

“No matter where it came from,” answered 
Stockley; “it’s just what we want to settle this 
business. It has been hanging fire long enough. It 
ought to be settled for everybody’s sake. I think 
this will do it.” 

Garrett did not like his cousin, and hitherto had 
not been above doing him a bad turn occasionally. 
He was recognized, more or less, as the mouthpiece 
of those opposed to Roy. To do Andrew justice it 
must be admitted that he never quite realized what 
injury he was doing his cousin. A full realization of 
the injustice of his course was not to come to him for 
a long time, but now, since this interview, he was 
very uneasy. If Henning was determined to act on 
the offensive, he must prepare to defend himself. 
Here was a piece of paper, luckily thrown in his 
way, with which he could divert suspicion from him- 
self should his cousin be goaded into retaliating. He 
knew enough of Roy’s character to realize that he 
would have his hands full,, if that individual decided 
to take the initiative in the tangle. 

But what of the “find” of Smithers? What im- 
portant piece of information did it contain which 
was evidently so detrimental to Henning as to draw 
the sudden exclamation of surprise from Garrett’s 
lips? It was not a complete letter, but merely a 
first draft. It ran as follows : “My dear friend.” 

The word “friend” had been marked through and 
“chum” inserted instead. 


GARRETT IS ANGRY 


133 


“Your letter rec’d last Monday. Sorry to say that 
.... have no money now .... so can’t possibly do the 
thing you wish .... awfully sorry .... feel like steal- 
ing the money rather than letting this thing go un- 
done. However, wait till the end of Christmas week. 
It won’t be too late then. Something’s going to 
happen before that! Then we can go into partner- 
ship — at least for the merit of the thing. Keep 
everything dark. Don’t say a single word to any- 
body about it. Mind now, chum, everything must 
be kept a secret, or — smash. Yours, Roy H.” 

The missive, or first copy of one, looked mys- 
terious enough. To these boys into whose possession 
it had by some means fallen, it had a decidedly dark- 
lantern appearance. To their minds, in view of what 
had happened near the end of the Christmas week, 
the words seemed to have a peculiarly sinister mean- 
ing in proportion to each one’s prejudice. 

Was the sketch of the proposed letter genuine? 
There was no doubt as to that in Garrett’s mind. 
Everybody knew Henning’s writing. Without hesi- 
tation Garrett pronounced it genuine. 

But what could the letter mean ? Had his cousin 
deliberately planned the robbery ? Smithers believed, 
or said he believed, this to be the case. Garrett knew 
better. In spite of this letter he knew that was too 
absurd a notion to entertain. He was, nevertheless, 
shrewd enough to see the value of this crumpled 
note as a weapon of defense for himself. 

He deliberately put it into his pocket. 

“Hold on there, Garrett!” exclaimed Smithers, 
“that note belongs to me.” 

“Excuse me,” replied Andrew, “but I believe it 
belongs strictly to Roy Henning.” 

“No, it doesn’t. It’s my property. I risked — I 
mean I discovered it, and it’s mine.” 


134 


GARRETT IS ANGRY 


beg your pardon, but for the present you may 
consider it my property. There may be further risk, 
you know, for you. It will be quite safe, I assure 
you, in my keeping.” 

“Well, ril be hanged!” exclaimed the dismayed 
Smithers. 

“Shouldn’t wonder in the least — some day,” 
replied Garret imperturbably. 

“But it’s mine !” 

“Beg to differ with you. It never was yours. It 
is mine now, at least for a time. I haven’t decided 
yet what to do with it — whether to tear it up, or 
restore it to its rightful owner.” 

He intended to do neither one nor the other. He 
had formed his plan, but he had not the slightest 
intention of taking either Stockley or Smithers into 
his confidence. The latter was very angry at the 
loss of the letter, but he knew very well that he could 
not get it back until Garrett pleased to return it. 
His ill humor was not lessened when Garrett said as 
he walked away : 

“By the way, I should recommend you to say 
nothing about this so-called ‘find’ of yours, you 
fellows, for I am strongly under the impression that 
it is bogus, and besides, it might be difficult to con- 
vince people you came by it honestly.” 

Smithers’ eyelids exhibited that nervous twitching 
more rapidly than ever. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A Talk 

S HEALEY and Beecham captured Roy Henning and 
took him for a long stroll through the woods 
that Sunday afternoon. He, in the keen enjoy- 
ment of witnessing nature once again awake from its 
long winter slumber, for a time forgot his annoy- 
ances, and was the merriest of the three. The time 
passed as only a bright holiday can pass with the 
light-hearted. 

Now there was a hunt for the nimble squirrel, 
which always got safely away. Anon there was a 
plunge into the thickest coppice for spring flowers. 
From these dense undergrowths the three more than 
once emerged minus the treasures they sought, and 
plus a number of scratches on hands and face, and 
with not a little damage to Sunday suits. In the 
sunny spots they found the first delicate fern fronds. 
In one particularly romantic spot they found a num- 
ber of beautiful fungi. Jack Beecham dexterously 
made a little birch-bark box, which he filled with soft 
green moss, carefully placing his treasures therein. 
In their journey they were lucky enough to come 
across some morels, and one or two of those 
vegetable curiosities, the earth-star. With these 
boys a ramble into the country was much more than 
so many steps taken to a certain spot, and so many 
back again. Their studies had sharpened their 
powers of outdoor observation, so that a walk was 
an intellectual exercise as well as a physical one. 
Many times during that afternoon Roy recalled 
135 


A TALK 


136 

the interview with his cousin a few minutes before 
starting, but with a certain determination he put the 
matter from his mind for the present, intent on 
giving himself entirely to the enjoyment of the 
beauties of nature on an ideal spring day, and to the 
pleasant companionship of two very delightful fel- 
low-students. For a time he forgot all about Garrett. 

When the journey was near its end; when the 
tired and healthy, hungry three were once more 
nearing the college grounds, the thoughts of what 
he had said and done with regard to his cousin, and 
that same cousin’s noncommittal responses, once 
more filled Roy’s mind and made him thoughtful and 
reserved again. 

“There you are!” scolded Jack Beecham; “I do 
declare, Roy, you ought to live in the woods alto- 
gether. As soon as you come near home you at once 
put on a long face, turn down the corners of your 
mouth, and look as sour as — as vinegar and water.” 

“Yes,” added Tom Shealey, “I’m going to call 
you in future Old Glum — that’s the only name that 
suits you now. What on earth is the use of being 
so sober and somber about things?” 

“Just at present,” answered Roy, “I do not think 
I have anjdhing to make me unusually cheerful; 
nothing certainly that would make me dance and 
sing with joy.” 

“Afraid of your semi-annual exam ?” asked 
Beecham. 

“No. That examination does not bother me. The 
Little Go, as our English cousins call it, will, I be- 
lieve, be somewhat of a picnic for me.” 

“That’s what you think,” said Jack, “but we don’t 
all think that way, do we, Tom ?” 

“Indeed, no,” answered Tom Shealey grimly. 
The half-yearly had certain terrors for poor Tom. 


TALK 


137 


He had not shone with particular brilliancy in the 
examination in minor logic. He assured his friends 
that the examiners were unanimous that he had not 
shown any remarkable scintillations of genius in his 
mathematical trial, and the least said about the 
opinion entertained of him by his professor in ge- 
ology and astronomy, the better for Tom’s reputa- 
tion as a hard student. 

‘‘Well, then, Roy,” asked Beecham, “if you are not 
afraid of the semi, why do you look so gloomy?” 

“I wish most heartily, Jack, that something would 
turn up to settle that wretched robbery business. At 
all events, one great load is off my mind. Yesterday 
I received a letter from my father. I think I have 
already told you that he is a pretty stern man. Well, 
he’s all right. He wrote that he had the fullest con- 
fidence in me in this money business.” 

“Whoopla!” shouted Shealey, “good for the old 
gentleman. Whoop! Don’t you know, old fellow, 
I was terribly afraid for you from that quarter. He’s 
a brick I” 

“He tells me that every effort should be made 
to discover the culprit. He even said he was willing 
to bear a good share of the expense of securing a 
detective and so forth, considering that his son was 
the one who had the management of the funds.” 

“What’s the matter with Henning pere?” shouted 
Shealey the irrepressible. 

“Wait, Tom. He wrote more. He is willing to 
send me a check for the seventy-two dollars, if by 
paying it back into the fund I do not compromise 
myself.” 

“How ? What does he mean ?” asked Beecham. 

“This way, I suppose. If I pay it back I shall be 
considered by some to have — to speak plainly — to 
have taken it myself, or to have had some knowledge 


138 


A TALK 


of the guilty party, and, consequently, to have con- 
nived at it.” 

‘‘Does any living soul in his sound senses, you 
Don Quixote,” exclaimed Beecham, with an earnest- 
ness curiously resembling anger, ‘‘for an infinitesimal 
moment imagine you knew anything of it !” 

The generous tone of voice, the absolute con- 
fidence it displayed, was grateful and soothing to the 
worried boy. His suspicions of his own coqsin, which 
were not dissipated by that afternoon’s encounter, 
was the difficulty with him now. The letter of his 
father said: “to have any knowledge of the guilty 
party.” Of course, conniving was out of the 
question. But Garrett ! What to think of that which 
he saw on the night of the play! Could he have 
been mistaken? Oh, if Garrett that afternoon had 
only openly denied all knowledge of it, how happy 
Roy would be now 1 Under his present knowledge, 
however, he felt he could not accept the money from 
his father. Under a full conviction of his cousin’s 
guilt he had made that strange promise of silence, 
and this he was determined to keep, let come what 
might. Thus his quandary, which arose on his part 
from a certain sense of honor, for he would not act 
upon a mere suspicion, and he also earnestly desired 
to save a relative the shame of being accused. 

“No, I really believe,” said Henning, in answer to 
Beecham’s indignant question, “I really believe that 
even those boys who profess to suspect me do not 
believe what they say. I do not believe there is a 
boy in the yard, nor a single member of the faculty, 
who has the least real suspicion that I know anything 
about the theft.” 

“I guess not,” said Jack, and then added, “well, 
then, it’s settled, isn’t it?” 

“Unfortunately, no. There is something in this 


TALK 


139 


affair, which, until the robber is caught and the whole 
question disposed of forever, I can not mention ; yet 
it is important enough for me to be prevented in 
honor from writing for that money.’' 

Jack Beecham and Tom Shealey looked at each 
other in blank surprise. They then indulged in a 
long stare — not a mere look or glance, but a long, 
open stare — at Roy. Under the two pairs of very 
wide-open eyes he remained as inscrutable as a 
sphinx. There was not a movement of eyes or lips 
which could give them the slightest clue by which 
they might arrive at some understanding of the 
strange announcement. 

‘‘You don’t mean to say,” said Shealey, with eyes 
still wide open, “that, after all, you are in some 
way impli — oh! hang it all, I’m talking nonsense 
now !” 

Roy Henning burst out laughing. Notwithstand- 
ing his worry he enjoyed his friends’ bewilderment. 

“I guess you are,” he said. 

“Look here, Mr. Roy Aloysius Henning,” said 
Jack Beecham, “I consider you the most inexplicable, 
inexorable, incomprehensible creature on the face of 
the footstool. Now look here! No humbug, you 
know — we, your friends, I, Tom, and Brose, for 
here he comes — demand from you an explanation 
right here and now. You must tell us the whole 
affair.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No. I can not do it.” 

“If you don’t do it. I’ll ” Jack stopped dis- 

mayed. He saw that Roy was firm. “I’ll fling some 
more big names at you.” 

“Can’t help it, Jackie. I guess I can stand ’em.” 

“But this thing’s got to be straightened out !” 


140 


A TALK 


‘‘If so, it has to be done without my taking any 
part in the straightening — see?’^ 

“But, man alive! You are the most interested! 
If you know anything of importance, why not in- 
form your friends, and let us ferret out the truth or 
falsity of your surmises 

“No. It can not be done. If I am to be exon- 
erated from these very unjust and, I confess, very 
annoying aspersions, it must be done gratuitously 
and of the free will of the person or persons 
malignant enough to start the rumors. Do you not 
see, my friends, that if you began to move in order 
to exonerate me, everybody would consider you as 
acting as my agents and under my direction ” 

“Quixotic nonsense ” began Beecham. 

“Wait, Jack. This is the penalty you pay for your 
friendship. I will tell you this much, in gratitude 
for your interest and loyalty. I have made a solemn 
pledge to keep absolutely silent with respect to any 
suspicions I may have until the whole is settled and 
cleared up.’’ 

“But you in the meantime are suffering!” said 
Jack. 

“Can’t help it. Better suffer than be unjust. 
Better bear a little, than perhaps do another an 
almost irreparable injury.” 

His friends began to have some glimmerings of 
the reasons why he would not move or be moved. 
All of them were aware of his delicacy of con- 
science. They knew of his high sense of honor, of 
his exactitude, which amounted in their eyes to 
scrupulosity. It was, therefore, with no small 
amount of admiration, which, however, they dis- 
guised under much banter and teasing, that they 
acquiesced in Henning’s view of his own conduct in 
the matter. 


:d TALK 


141 


‘‘Roy, you're a chump !" said Shealey. 

“Yes, and a gump!” added Jack Beecham. 

“And my quota of abuse is," said Bracebridge, 
who by this time understood the drift of the talk, “is 
that you are a — what shall I say — oh ! yes — that 
you are a frump, whatever that is ; it rhymes any- 
way.” 

Roy bowed low, as if receiving compliments and 
bouquets. When he left to go to his classroom to 
write to his father. Jack Beecham said : 

, “That fellow is a second Bayard — sans reprochef* 

“So say all who know him,” added Shealey, and 
Ambrose said : “Amen.” 


CHAPTER XIX 
The Unexpected 

I T WAS remarkable, and even surprised Garrett him- 
self, that Smithers and Stockley made no capital 
out of their knowledge of the existence of what 
appeared to be an incriminating document. The 
sketch of the letter which they had shown with such 
assurance to Garrett, and which that individual, with 
an assumption of superiority that had completely 
cowed the two, had coolly kept in his possession, did 
have something of a suspicious appearance. 

Why did Garrett retain it? Was it a last card 
held in reserve to play against his cousin’s hand? 
Did he believe the letter to be genuine? Finally, 
after all, did he wish to spare his cousin? 

At this time this last consideration had no weight 
with him. He had various reasons for acting as he 
had done. One strong one was that he proposed to 
hold all the threads of the plot in his own hands and 
manipulate them to his own advantage. He was by 
no means sure how this evidence of Roy’s supposed 
complicity would be received by the boys. He felt 
sure that many would pooh-pooh such a document 
as worthless. He did not desire to prove nothing by 
overstepping the mark in attempting to prove too 
much. 

Suspicious as the letter looked objectively, Garrett 
was not so stupid as not to know there must be some 
very good explanation of the words; although un- 
supported by an explanation they certainly did ap- 
pear to incriminate the writer, in view of all that 
had happened since they were penned. 

142 


THE UNEXPECTED 


143 


Smithers saw plainly enough that without the 
letter being produced (confound that Garrett’s im- 
pudence!) his words would have no weight. This 
young man was quite well aware that he bore a very 
odorous — in fact a malodorous — reputation among 
even his friends. Many knew of his despicable in- 
gratitude toward Roy Henning. 

Stockley had a plan of his own which he told to 
neither Smithers nor Garrett, and had adopted a 
Fabian policy. Thus it happened that Roy Henning 
was spared the knowledge that one of these boys 
had in his possession a copy or draft of a letter of 
his, which he could, had he so wished, use against 
him and thus cause him more annoyance. 

Meanwhile time flew on. The warm weather had 
come. It was now very pleasant to be out of doors, 
and, of course, the great question now occupying all 
interest was that of the prospects of the ball team. 
It was found to the general satisfaction that there 
was very good material after all, in spite of the lack 
of the winter practice. 

Harry Gill, a fast friend of Henning, and a great 
supporter of Rob Jones, was chosen captain and 
manager. He was a popular boy who could write a 
pleasing challenge and gain and retain the good will 
of those teams who even refused to play St. Cuth- 
bert’s. To the surprise of all he secured a game 
with the celebrated Blandyke team, to be played on 
the home grounds. This was delightful, news for 
the yard, the more so because it was so unexpected. 

The Blandykes had assured the St. Cuthbert’s boys 
early in the spring, that they had played them for the 
last time, not because of any disagreement or because 
they had been beaten previously, but because their 
faculty had ruled against the long travel. Yet here 
was Gill, at the very opening of the season, securing 


144 


THE UNEXPECTED 


the first great game without hitch or flaw, and on 
the home grounds. 

The boys were jubilant. Their satisfaction was 
increased when they learned that Gill, by his irre- 
sistible charm of manner, had induced Henning to 
practice with the team. He could not get Roy to 
promise to play in the match game, but to have him 
in the practice games was something. Every one ad- 
mitted that Roy was an exceptionally fine player. 
Much of the beginning of the undercurrent of talk 
against him in the previous fall was, it will be re- 
membered, owing to his refusal to have any more to 
do with sports, and especially with baseball. 

How could he now reconcile himself to his father^s 
positive injunction to engage in no sports and yet 
play practice games? Roy had thought the matter 
over and had come to a decision. 

His father had told him there were to be no sports. 
This he adhered to scrupulously. His father had 
said there was to be enough exercise only by which 
to keep a sound mind in a sound body. Now to 
him, as to many another healthy, hearty boy, after 
the long dormant months of winter, there was need 
of good outdoor exercise. Where could one find it 
better than in the great game? But was not this 
sport, in the understanding of his father? Roy 
thought it was not, that is, practice games were not. 
With match games it was different. He reasoned 
that his father knew that he was athletic, that wheel- 
ing could not always suffice, and that long walks 
were a mere winter expedient. He therefore arrived 
at the eminently satisfactory conclusion that his 
father did not intend, when he told him to keep a 
sound mind in a sound body, that he should be alto- 
gether excluded from the game which, above all 
others, was best able to secure that end. Casuists 


THE UNEXPECTED 


145 

may argue pro and con on the soundness of Roy’s 
conclusion if they will. We leave it to them. 

It is well known that there is nothing in a college 
so well adapted to the breaking up of animosities and 
of undesirable alliances and dangerous particular 
friendships which lead to no good, as baseball. 
The adage, ‘‘birds of a feather flock together,” is 
particularly true of boys at school during the winter 
season. Crowded together in a certain circum- 
scribed space of one or two or three halls, according 
to the excellence of the college equipment, the very 
best boys are often forced to form acquaintances 
with those with whom they would otherwise not 
closely associate. 

This had been particularly the case this year at 
St. Cuthbert’s, owing to the diversity of opinion as 
to the question of the identity of the undiscovered 
thief. As we know, many boys were inclined to 
suspect Roy Henning. Among these were some of 
the best ball-players. Now Harry Gill, captain and 
manager, was substitute pitcher. Stockley was a 
splendid first baseman, and could pitch well. 
Smithers, too, although not liked generally by the 
boys, was too fine a player to be ignored. Beecham, 
of course, was on the team, as was Bracebridge. 
Garrett, so the boys declared, “would have eaten his 
hat” to have been selected for a place on the first 
nine. Gill, however, appointed strictly according to 
merit, and Andrew rose no higher than substitute for 
third baseman. That, however, was something in a 
place like St. Cuthbert’s, because the substitutes, 
beside traveling with the team, were always the op- 
posing team in practice games, and during the spring 
and early summer saw a deal of fine work. 

It is an axiom that in order to play good ball, all 
differences of opinion must be dropped. No team 


146 


THE UNEXPECTED 


could be enthusiastic for victory with three or four 
currents of self-interest or animosity thwarting and 
dampening all efforts and rendering harmonious and 
united action impossible. 

All disagreements had been dropped, or at least 
hidden away. All were enthusiastic. When Gill 
announced to the team that Roy Henning had con- 
sented to play at all practice games, the percentage 
of enthusiasm, if it could be measured in that way, 
rose very high. Now all bickerings and animosities 
seemed to be forgotten, and they actually were for 
a time. As far as team work went, there was one 
heart and one soul. The prospects were indeed 
bright. 

What a splendid player Roy was ! He stood there 
in the pitcher’s box, a picture of fine young manhood. 
His long brown hair blowing over his forehead ap- 
peared to get into his eyes at every move. With a 
graceful leonine backward movement of the head he 
would toss the hair out of his way. He was never 
excited. He always had his wits about him. In a 
critical moment he could be relied upon. He had 
the habit of keeping a piece of chewing gum in his 
mouth. To the uninitiated it appeared the most im- 
portant part of the game for him to keep his jaws 
in steady, slow motion. Some said it kept him from 
becoming excited — that the attention required to 
keep up the regular, slow motion of his molars pre- 
vented any other kind of distraction. Be this as it 
may, he never showed excitement, but was always 
calm and cool, and not unfrequently at critical 
moments exasperatingly slow. 

And then what an arm he had, and what move- 
ment! He seemed merely to put his hand forward 
and the ball went high, or low, or wherever he 
willed. He was a great acquisition to the team. The 


THE UNEXPECTED 


147 


baseball enthusiasts, which is equivalent to saying all 
the boys, certainly had some excuse for chagrin 
when, without explanation, he retired from the game 
the year before. 

Who does not love the sight of ball players on the 
diamond, especially in the early summer ! The bright 
uniforms, the brighter faces flushed with the joy of 
living and of anticipation! Then the merry shout 
and laugh! How it makes the blood tingle, and 
sends the spirit of youth once more through one’s 
veins ! 

In the last practice game before the match with 
the Blandykes the boys in their uniforms, white shirts 
and blue pants, stockings, and caps, presented a pic- 
turesque scene. The kindly sun, as yet not too hot, 
flushed their cheeks, while the liquid blue above and 
the fresh tender grass beneath their feet lent ad- 
ditional zest to their enjoyment. It was the first 
important practice game the boys had played. 

When at length it came to an end all the players 
clustered around Roy Henning at the home plate, 
congratulating him on his pitching. Jack Beecham 
and Ambrose stood a little apart, watching the group. 

‘Tsn’t it a pity, Brose, that Roy won’t play against 
the Blandykes next Tuesday,” remarked Jack. 

“Indeed it is — a thousand pities. But you may 
be sure he knows what he is doing.” 

“Guess he does. But there’s a particularly sable 
individual in the woodpile somewhere! I wonder 
what it all means?” 

“Many beside you have wondered,” responded 
Bracebridge. 

“Oh, he must play next week — must, must, we 
can’t do without him ! He must play, and that’s all 
there is about it.” 

“I am afraid he won’t though. Hello, what’s up ? 


148 


THE UNEXPECTED 


Look, here comes Mr. Shalford. How serious he 
looks r 

The two boys touched their hats as the prefect 
approached. 

“Have you seen Henning, boys ? Ah, there he is 

The prefect went to the group surrounding their 
ideal pitcher. They were using all the art persuasive 
they could command to extort a promise from him 
to play in the forthcoming match game. It is hard to 
say how much longer he would have had to with- 
stand their importunities, had they not suddenly 
ceased upon catching sight of Mr. Shalford. 

“Henning, I want you.” 

Roy disengaged himself from the crowd. 

“Here's a telegram for you. The President told 
me to give it to you at once, and you are to go to 
him immediately.” 

Outside of strictly business circles, the arrival of 
a telegram has always its preliminary terrors. The 
yellow missive may contain such startling news ! The 
message which Roy’s father had sent him was start- 
ling enough. It read : 

“Ethel is believed to be dying. Come at once. 
G. H.” 

Roy went over to where Beecham and Bracebridge 
were standing. Without a word he placed the tel- 
egram in Ambrose’s hand. After reading it the 
three friends at once moved toward the college. The 
crowd of boys, lately so loud and clamorous, were 
silent now, in the presence of some unknown 
calamity. 

Roy walked on as if stunned, for a little while 
scarcely knowing where he was going. Jack and 
Ambrose, after one sympathetic pressure of his 
hand, walked with him in silent sympathy. 


CHAPTER XX 


The Fairest Lily 

T he President was waiting for Henning in his 
office. The two friends left Roy at the door, 
and quietly stole out of the corridor into the 
sunshine, where with subdued voices they discussed 
the misfortune which was overshadowing their 
friend. 

‘T never knew a boy to meet with so many mis- 
fortunes in one year as Roy has done/’ said Beecham. 

‘Tt is hard,” replied Bracebridge, ‘‘but God 
knows best. I sometimes think he is being tried, as 
gold is tried in the furnace, for some great purpose.” 

Beecham was silent. Such thoughts were just a 
little above Jack’s ordinary plane of thinking. Brace- 
bridge continued : 

“What do you say if, during his absence, we make 
a grand effort to find the thief? What a glorious 
thing it would be if he could come back cleared of 
all suspicion!” 

Beecham was never patient when the words “sus- 
picion” and “Henning” were mentioned in the same 
connection. This time he said something quite 
rough, and, to tell the truth, quite unlike himself. 
Ambrose looked up in surprise. 

“You must excuse me. I lose all patience in this 
affair.” ^ 

“All right, old fellow. We will make a big effort, 
eh?” 

“You may bet your last little round red cent we 
will.” 


149 


THE FAIREST LILY 


150 

Henning reappeared. He had but little time to 
spare if he would catch the six o’clock train. By 
traveling all night he would reach home by seven 
o’clock in the morning. Hurriedly changing his 
clothes, he shook hands with the two and was driven 
to the depot. Both promised to write as soon as 
there was anything important to write about. 

While Roy Henning is traveling homeward as 
fast as a night express can take him, we will explain 
the reason why the telegram had been sent. This 
can not be done better than by going to the Henning 
home, and there tracing the course of events. 

‘T think it’s real mean to rain like this,” said 
Tommy Henning, early in the morning of the day 
on which Roy, his big brother, had received the 
alarming telegram. Tommy let his picture book 
drop to the floor, and swung his fat little legs back- 
ward and forward. Soon tiring of this, he flattened 
his nose against the window pane of the drawing- 
room where the two children had been trying to 
amuse themselves. 

^‘What’s mean, Tommy?” asked his sister, Ethel. 

‘‘Oh, things!” and with this broad generalization 
he continued to exercise his legs. “What’s the use 
if it’s going to rain all the time?” 

“But it isn’t going to rain all day. It will clear 
up before long, see if it doesn’t.” 

Tommy was a real boy and, like his big brother, 
hated above all things to be obliged to remain in- 
doors. It had been raining for twenty-four hours, 
and he longed to get outside in the free, fresh air, 
being particularly anxious just now to take Ethel 
for a ride in the boat on the big pond below the 
orchard. 

Tommy was sturdy, but his sister was a frail girl, 


THE FAIREST LILY 


151 

of shy and nervous disposition. Her chief charac- 
teristic was her passionate love for her brother Tom, 
who did not show much appreciation of her affection, 
because he did not realize its depth. He loved his 
sister, but in a somewhat boisterous manner. Not 
unfrequently he showed his affection in a way that 
was rather painful than otherwise to the delicate 
child. This was because he did not think. He did 
not intend to be rough, yet he secretly thought that 
it was a hardship that she was not a boy, for then 
he could have ‘‘lots more fun.’’ They got along well 
together, however, and loved each other very dearly. 

True to Ethel’s prediction, it soon ceased raining, 
the clouds breaking and rolling away in great 
masses. Tom’s vivacity returned with the sunshine. 

“Ma ! ma ! may we go down to the pond now, and 
get some of those lilies?” begged Tommy, as he 
rushed into his mother’s room. 

“I am afraid not for the present, my son,” replied 
his mother, “at least Ethel can not go. It is a little 
chilly after the rain, and besides, the boat will be 
full of water.” 

Ethel did not really care about going just then, 
but seeing how anxious her brother was to enjoy the 
ride and get the beautiful flowers, the first lilies of 
the summer, she also pleaded for permission. At 
length under the combined pleading of the two, 
Mrs. Henning consented. 

“Now, Tommy,” she said, “if I let you go, you 
must promise me not to go near the mill-race.” 

“All right, Ma ; there’s lots of room without going 
near there,” and the handsome little fellow scam- 
pered off in high glee, with the full intention of 
keeping his promise. 

The injunction was not an unnecessary one. The 
mill-race was a dangerous spot. At the sluice there 


152 


THE FAIREST LILY 

was a considerable current of water which would 
take a boat caught in it over the bank and danger- 
ously dash it into deep water, if it escaped being 
broken to pieces on some large boulders which had 
formerly been a part of the masonry of an old mill. 

The pond was noted in the neighborhood for the 
profusion and beauty of its water-lilies. The chil- 
dren found no greater delight in the summer than in 
gathering them and adorning their pretty suburban 
home with them. 

The boy found there was not much water in the 
boat. With Ethel’s assistance he bailed it out and 
they were soon among the water-lilies. They formed 
a pretty picture — these two children, Tom in his 
white flannel shirt adorned with a pretty pink tie, a 
special Christmas gift of Ethel ; she in her pink dress 
and white sunbonnet, her lap almost covered with 
luxuriant flowers. 

‘‘That’s enough, Tom; plenty for to-day,” said 
Ethel. 

“All right. Now for a good row around the pond 
while you cut the stalks.” 

Tommy had a good voice, and as he rowed he 
began to sing : 

“See our oars with feathered spray 
Sparkle in the beam of day. 

As along the lake we glide 
Swiftly o’er the silent tide.” 

T^ r pond was large enough to afford the boy a 
goo'^ jjull with the oars. He enjoyed it immensely. 
The boat had glided from shore to shore several 
times, when Master Tommy Henning began to look 
for fresh excitement. Stealthily he began to pull 
stronger on one oar than on the other, and so 
gradually to near the mill-race. 


THE FAIREST LILY 


153 


“Oh, Tom! Tommy! look, look, we are getting 
near the dam !” shouted Ethel, very much frightened. 

“That’s nothing. There’s no danger here,” said 
the boy. He made a turn, then came nearer than 
before to the dangerous spot. 

“I’m so frightened ! Tom, please, Tom, don’t go 
so near,” pleaded Ethel. 

“That’s because you are a girl. If you were a boy 
you wouldn’t be frightened a little bit.” 

He rowed away for a little space, and soon in a 
spirit of pure bravado he pulled nearer a few feet. 
Ethel began screaming with fright. 

“That’s just like girls. They always scream at 
something or other,” said the ungallant Tommy. 

Ethel was very much frightened. She trembled 
violently, but Tom affected not to see. With another 
stroke he went still nearer to the mill-race. At this 
Ethel gave a prolonged, agonizing shriek of fear, 
which made even her madcap brother feel a little 
uncomfortable, although he still persisted in teasing 
her, for he knew his strength and as yet had the boat 
under complete control. 

“I’m going nearer yet. Sis,” he said to the greatly 
frightened little girl, and began to turn the prow of 
the boat a little. 

She began one more wild shriek of terror, but 
stopped suddenly. She could scream no more. The 
horror of her perilous position rendered her mute. 
She could do nothing but shiver and tremble vio- 
lently. Her eyes were wide and staring. 

“What do you stop screaming for? You ain’t out 
of danger yet. Girls always scream longer than that 
in one breath.” 

There was no reply. Tom looked around to see 
his sister burst into a very torrent of tears. This 
was too much for the boy. 


154 


THE FAIREST LILY 


‘‘Oh, come, Ethel. I was only fooling. Don’t 
cry. There’s no danger. See !” 

He headed the boat in the opposite direction and 
began to row away from the dangerous locality. 
Ethel continued to sob convulsively, unable to 
restrain herself. She had been thoroughly frightened, 
and now she could not speak. Her eyes were staring 
wildly; the blue veins on her forehead stood out 
rigidly. She seemed choking as if half stifled with 
the horror she had felt. Tom was now heartily 
ashamed of himself, and heartily wished he had not 
disobeyed. 

“Stop crying, Ethie, and I’ll give you my new box 
of paints,” said he anxiously. 

The magnitude of the inducement was the measure 
of Tom’s anxiety. But with even this tempting offer 
of his greatest wealth, she could not refrain from 
weeping and sobbing. 

“I never thought you would take on so, or I never 
would go near the old thing. I just did it for fun,” 
urged the boy persistently. All his coaxing was of 
no avail and he became alarmed at her hysterical 
sobbing. To add to his confusion, as he neared the 
boat-landing he saw his mother standing on the bank. 
She had heard the screaming, and rushed down to 
the pond, fearing some accident had happened. 

“What have you been doing to your sister?” she 
asked sternly. 

“I thought I would scare her a little bit — only a 
little, though; that’s all, Mama.” 

“And you went near the dam ?” 

“Not very close — true if I did. There was no 
danger.” 

Ethel’s pale face and hysterical weeping told how 
near he had been. 

“Go to the house, sir, and stay there for the rest 


THE FAIREST LILY 


155 

of the day/’ said his mother, in a tone Tommy knew 
from experience was not to be disobeyed. 

This was a great punishment for Tommy, for, of 
all things, he loved to be out of doors in the free air 
of heaven. There was, however, a certain manliness 
about the little fellow, so he went to his punishment 
without a word. He could not understand why his 
sister had screamed so much, and more especially 
why she did not now stop crying. 

Ethel did not easily recover from her fright. Her 
mother brought her to the house and laid her on a 
cushioned lounge, where she remained all the after- 
noon completely prostrated. Tommy was told to 
stay in the same room, which he did more or less 
sulkily. He thought his punishment excessive, and 
he showed his resentment to his sister by being a 
little bit cross to her. Early in the afternoon he 
worked himself into the belief that he was actually 
the injured one. All this was a proceeding most un- 
usual with Tommy. 

The little girl lay on the lounge quite weakened 
and very sick from her adventure. She did not move, 
but lay still and quiet, with an occasional hard sob, 
resembling the last muttering of a storm in the dis- 
tance. Toward four o’clock of that long afternoon 
she said faintly to her brother : 

‘‘Tommy, I am so thirsty; will you get me a 
drink?” 

Now Master Tom was still quite ill-tempered and, 
contrary to his usual custom, very much disinclined 
to oblige her. Seeing a glass of water on the table, 
he handed it to her, saying : 

“Here’s some. Drink this.” 

She touched her feverish lips to it and said : “It’s 
quite warm. It has been here all day. Mama 
brought it in this morning for the canary.” 


THE FAIREST LILY 


156 

‘Well, it’s good water, anyhow,” said Master 
Tommy, and he went back to his seat and sulked. 

She sighed and closed her eyes without allaying 
her thirst. Presently Mrs. Henning came into the 
room, and saw, with alarm, that Ethel was in a high 
fever. She telephoned at once for the family phy- 
sician, who was in his office when the message came. 
When he came he looked very grave, and declared 
that the child would not live more than twenty-four 
hours. The physician knew Ethel’s constitution well. 
She had grown up an extremely delicate child. He 
gave no hope of her recovery. He declared the 
attack had been brought on by some unwonted 
exertion beyond her strength, or by some extraordi- 
nary strain caused by great fear or overwhelming 
grief. When told of what had occurred on the pond 
he shook his head ominously, and frankly told the 
mother to expect the worst, recommending, as a 
conscientious physician, that a priest be called with- 
out delay. 


CHAPTER XXI 


The Passing of Ethel 

A s sOON as Tommy realized that Ethel was really 
sick there came a revulsion of feeling such as 
all generous natures are subject to. He was 
no longer angry or sulky. He racked his brains to 
discover means by which he could make amends for 
his unkindness of the afternoon. 

Tommy had one great treasure which no one was 
allowed to touch. This was a precious silver mug, 
a birthday present. He never used it except on 
some very extraordinary occasion. It was rarely 
taken from his mother’s china-closet, where it oc- 
cupied a place of honor. Now he thought of this 
mug, but first he took a pitcher out to the pump and 
used the handle vigorously until his arms ached. He 
then went to the cupboard and took out his great 
treasure, carrying it and the pitcher to where Ethel 
was lying. 

‘‘Sissie dear,” he said softly, ‘T’m awful sorry 
I’ve been mean to you ’s afternoon. I didn’t know 
you were sick, sure. If I had known that I’d got 
you a barrelful of water, sure I would.” 

Ethel opened her eyes with a pleasant smile. She 
knew that Tommy loved her. He was trying to 
make amends. That»was enough to make her happy. 

‘‘Here, Ethel, dear. I’ve brought you the coldest 
water I could get from the well, and here’s my silver 
cup to drink it out of.” 

The little sufferer was now too far gone to care 
for water. Wishing to respond to her brother’s 
157 


158 THE PASSING OF ETHEL 

kindness she took the mug and put it to her lips, as 
if drinking a long draught. But Tommy saw she 
was not drinking. 

‘'Why, Ethel, you only make believe! Don’t be 
afraid to drink. I’ll keep on carrying in pitchers all 
night if you want ’em. ’Taint no trouble at all 
for me.” 

Ethel saw his generosity of purpose and smiled 
again. 

“Drink some more, Ethel. It’s good.” She could 
not resist such importunity, and she drank some of 
the water, more than she needed, in order to please 
him. 

Tommy exaggerated his fault in his own eyes. 
Now, in order to make amends, he strove urgently 
to make his sister drink, coaxing her at least every 
ten minutes to do so, until at last she was fain to 
tell him it was impossible for her to take any more. 
If he could not make her drink, he could, neverthe- 
less, keep the water cool, so he changed it at least 
every fifteen minutes. Who shall say but what the 
angels carried these crude acts of reparation to the 
Mercy Seat, and brought back blessings for sorrow- 
ful Tommy? 

Ethel realized that she was very ill. The doctor’s 
grave face confirmed her worst fears. She did not 
fear to die. Had she not gone to confession every 
week for a year past, and although the pure little 
child knew it not, the good priest knew full well 
that for weeks together he scarcely found matter for 
absolution. She did not want to die, not yet at 
least, if it were the will of God, until she had made 
her First Communion. Her pure soul had not yet 
been strengthened by the Bread of Angels. How 
ardently for months she had longed for the day of 
her First Communion, and now it seemed so hard to 


THE PASSING OF ETHEL 


159 


die before that great event. Would not the sweet 
Jesus spare her at least until she could receive Him! 
Long and earnestly, on her couch of suffering, she 
prayed that she might receive this supreme happi- 
ness. She knew that she was dying. The frightful 
pain in her back told her, as she lay there in such 
helplessness, that her weakness could not long battle 
against so sudden and so violent an attack. But oh, 
to be deprived of the great privilege I 

“Lord, I am not worthy ! Lord, I am not worthy 
that Thou shouldst come to me! Come, oh, come, 
my Lord Jesus!’' she repeated again and again, 
between her acts of contrition. 

It was in this hour of supreme suspense and 
anxiety of her parents that Ethel’s beautiful charac- 
ter shone forth. Patient, humble, thankful for the 
least kindness shown, or office performed for her, 
she fairly broke the heart of father and mother, who 
now realized, more completely than ever, what a 
beautiful treasure they were losing. 

The priest was grieved to see this stricken one of 
his flock. Ethel’s eyes brightened when she saw 
him. He heard the child’s last confession and ad- 
ministered Extreme Unction. Long the confession 
lasted — those guileless self-accusations of an almost 
guiltless soul. When the family were re-admitted 
they saw that both priest and penitent had been 
weeping. 

“Has the poor child told you her greatest desire. 
Father?” asked the grieving mother. 

“Yes. I have no hesitation in giving her Holy 
Communion. She was sufficiently prepared a year 
ago. If you will make the proper preparations I 
will bring the Holy Sacrament and administer First 
Communion.” 

Not until Tommy saw the priest visit the house, 


i6o THE PASSING OF ETHEL 

and learned that his sister had been anointed did he 
realize that she was dangerously ill. When the priest 
left, he rushed to the couch, and kneeling, took 
Ethel’s hand and covered it with tears and kisses, 
crying passionately with heartrending sobs : 

“Ethel, Ethel, Ethel ! don’t die, don’t die yet ! Ask 
God and His Mother to make you well again. You 
know they will if you ask them.” His cry was an 
unconscious tribute to his sister’s goodness. 

Ethel waited with joy and calmness the approach 
of her Lord. Very soon the priest, bearing the 
Sacred Host, arrived and the whole household 
assembled to honor the divine Visitor, and to pray 
for the departing soul. 

Notwithstanding her intense pain, Ethel appeared 
to be in a transport of joy. Her calm, waxlike face 
was faintly flushed at the fulfilment of her ardent 
longings. As she lay making fervent acts of love 
and thanksgiving, she resembled an angel rather 
than a child of human clay. So thought her spiritual 
director as he gave her the last absolution and bless- 
ing and began to recite the prayers for the dying. 

Tommy’s grief became deeper and more demon- 
strative. His mother gently drew him into the next 
room, telling him it was for Ethel’s good, as he was 
disturbing her recollection and happiness. With this 
assurance he became content, although he sobbed as 
if his heart would break. 

Silently, and in helpless, though resigned, anguish 
the father and mother watched through the long 
night the flickering spark of life fade and expire. 
More than once during these long hours they be- 
lieved the beautiful soul had flown to God, its 
Maker. Hoping against hope, they earnestly desired 
that she might last until Roy should reach home at 
seven, but about three the end came. 


THE PASSING OF ETHEL 


i6i 


‘^Fetch the boy,” said the father, in a whisper. 
Mrs. Henning softly left the room. She found 
Tommy, his face all tear-stained, asleep on the mat 
just outside the door. Gently waking him, she told 
him to come to Ethel. The boy, alert in a moment 
at the sound of her name, came slowly into the room. 
Neither father nor mother spoke, but the latter led 
him to the couch where lay the lifeless form of his 
sister still holding the crucifix in her hand. Her 
pure soul had flown. 

Seeing that she had passed away, the boy bent 
down and kissed her white forehead and her lips. 
His mother involuntarily moved a step nearer, in- 
tending to catch and console him in his first wild 
burst of grief. To her surprise the boy neither wept 
nor spoke. He took one long look at the placid face 
of his dead sister, and turned away, going out into 
the open air of the warm night. By the first gray 
streaks of dawn he wandered through the garden 
path down to the pond. There lay the boat as he 
had left it, half drawn up on the shore, and there, 
withered, lay the lilies she had gathered. The boy 
remembered how she had used all her little strength 
to pull up one large bud. She had, at length, laugh- 
ingly succeeded, dropping it into the boat and letting 
the long stalk hang in the water. 

As the gloaming of the sad day of the funeral 
drew on Tommy took his beads from his pocket. 
Then came the realization that he was alone to say 
them. 

“Ethel ! Ethel !” he cried, and the floodgates of his 
tears were open. Big, strong Roy caught him up 
in his arms as he would a baby. There Tommy, 
resting his tired little head on his big brother’s 
breast, wept unrestrainedly. 

On the day of the passing of Ethel Roy pondered 


THE PASSING OF ETHEL 


162 

long about sending a message to his friends at St. 
Cuthbert's. He could not decide to whom to send 
it. Bracebridge, Beecham, Shealey, Gill, and Jones, 
all were thought of, but he remained undecided. 
While thinking over this, his aunt, Andrew Garrett’s 
mother, entered the room. Roy loved this good and 
beautiful woman almost as much as he loved his own 
mother, whom she was supporting and comforting 
in her sudden affliction. 

‘‘I am glad you received my telegram in time,” 
she said. ‘‘You will be just now such a support and 
comfort to your mother and father, Roy, in their 
sorrow.” She kissed him on the forehead. 

“When the sickness came to Ethel,” she continued, 
“they were both too distracted by grief to think of 
sending for you, so I wired in your father’s name.” 

Roy made up his mind about his message. He 
filled out a blank : 

“Dear Andrew: Ethel passed away at three. 
Pray and get prayers for her. I know you will. 
Roy.” 

For many a long day after, Roy Henning had 
reason to bless the influence which prompted him to 
send this message to his cousin, rather than to any 
one else. The message had the effect of working a 
wonderful change in Andrew Garrett, so that when 
Roy next saw him, he scarcely recognized him. 
Many strange things will happen before Roy again 
sees his cousin. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Roy and His Father 

W HEN, in four or five days, the grief in the 
household had subsided sufficiently to lose 
some of its poignancy, Mr. Henning called 
his son to his study for the purpose of having a long 
talk with him concerning his prospects and the 
affairs at St. Cuthbert’s. He was still under the 
impression that the extraordinary test to which he 
had submitted his son was a wise one. 

The two sat opposite each other in large, leather- 
covered reading-chairs in a very wealthy man’s 
private ‘‘den.” Roy waited respectfully for his 
father to begin. Full of the thoughts of Ethel, he 
began to speak of his recent loss. 

“So the poor child is gone, gone ! I never thought 
she would last very long; she was too frail and 
delicate. If she had grown up I am sure she would 
have become a nun. Ah, that reminds me! Do 
you still hold to the notion you mentioned to me 
last summer?” 

“Of the priesthood? Most assuredly, sir.” 
“Humph!” 

The white whiskers looked whiter as the florid 
face became more florid. 

“H — um ! So ! I thought then that it was a mere 
passing fancy of yours, and that it would soon go. 
As you have asked for no more money than the small 
— yes, very small — allowance I settled on, I began 
to think — yes, I began to believe, that you had 
more of the Henning family spirit — yes, more of 


ROY AND HIS FATHER 


164 

the real family spirit — than at first I gave you credit 
for. So far, so good. So you are determined, if 
possible, to become a priest ?” 

‘‘Yes, sir,^’ said the young man firmly. 

“Now tell me, my boy, how you have passed 
through the tests I set.” 

Roy was silent. He thought of the many times 
he had experienced more or less bitterly rebellious 
thoughts against these tests. 

“Don’t be afraid, Roy. Speak plainly. Have you 
failed?” 

“No, father,” he answered emphatically; “I have 
not.” 

“That is good. I am very glad to hear that.” 

“I confess that it was very hard. Frequently I 
felt like writing to you about the prohibition of 
sports and of my — my shortness of cash.” 

“So most of your troubles came from lack of 
cash, eh?” 

“Oh, no ! Really the greatest test of obedience I 
have ever had was to follow your instruction strictly 
when you declared that I should engage in no sports 
except enough to keep a sound mind in a sound 
body.” 

“Yes, I remember to have said that.” 

“That, sir, was a hard blow to me. All the un- 
pleasantness of the year has arisen from trying to 
be faithful to your command.” 

“How so? Explain.” 

“As you know, I am an enthusiastic and pretty 
good ball-player.” 

“Yes, I have heard enough about that to be well 
acquainted with the fact.” 

“And I am a good all-round athlete as well. As a 
consequence, I stood high in the councils of the 
college athletic circles. When I announced my in- 


ROY AND HIS FATHER 


165 

tention of retiring from the football eleven, and the 
baseball nine there was a good deal of disagreeable 
talk. I must confess, father, this was the hardest 
thing I ever had to do in my whole life.’’ 

‘‘So?” 

“Yes, and the worst of it was I was made 
miserable by insinuations and innuendoes that I had 
betrayed the college teams. I was disloyal. I was 
acting out of pique or spite. This was all very hard 
to bear because I was actuated by the very best in- 
tentions. I wanted to prove to you that I was a 
dutiful and obedient son.” 

“I never doubted that, my boy, never for a 
moment doubted that!” 

“I thank you, sir.” 

“Poor lad 1 all this is too bad ; but tell me about 
the robbery. By the way, you never sent for that 
check ; but tell me all about it, that is, as far as it 
concerns yourself.” 

“I will, sir. Not being allowed to engage in any 
sports by your orders, I did not see why I could not 
make myself useful in some other way. Late in the 
fall there was much talk about the following season’s 
games. In order to keep the team in practice it was 
decided to take up a collection among the boys and 
purchase a pitcher’s cage, to be placed in the play- 
room, where indoor practice could be had all the 
winter. The boys appointed me solicitor and 
treasurer. I kept the money in the table-drawer in 
the committee-room off the playroom. From that 
drawer the money was stolen. What made my 
chagrin the deeper was that I had been warned by 
a close friend to place the money with the college 
treasurer for safer keeping. This I intended to do, 
but during the Christmas holidays it escaped my 
memory.” 


ROY AND HIS FATHER 


1 66 

“I do not see why you could not have written for 
that check. As far as I can see there is nothing in 
all this story to prevent you from replacing the 
money. Surely you and your cousin Andrew did ' 
everything in your power to trace the thief and get 
the money back ?” 

Here was a critical moment for Roy. Blood is 
thicker than water with the father as well as the son. 
Mr. Henning never dreamed but that Andrew would 
make this a family affair and exert himself with his 
cousin to recover the stolen money. It was a temp- 
tation for Roy. Should he expose Andrew’s con- 
duct? Should he permit his father to know that he 
had a nephew who was selfish and cowardly and 
mean, and not above trading upon another’s repu- 
tation? Roy had to think rapidly in making up his 
mind what to do. His father’s keen eyes were upon 
him. The old gentleman was awaiting an answer. 
Roy’s good angel prevailed. The boy replied : 

“Everything, I believe, was done that could be 
done to detect the thieves by myself and my friends, 
but without success. Had we found the thief and 
discovered that the money had been disposed of 
beyond recovery I should then have written gladly 
to you to replace it, after your generous offer.” 

“That’s right ; that’s right.” 

“But,” continued Roy with some hesitation, which 
his father did not fail to notice, “affairs turned out 
so differently from what I expected. Whether from 
natural causes, or from design, I do not know, but 
there were two or three opinions soon prevalent 
about the robbery, and there was one party who — 
who gave it out that they — they suspected me.” 

“Suspected you !” almost shouted the lawyer. 
“The scoundrels ! Who were they, Roy ; who were 
they?” 


RO Y AND HIS FA THER 167 

“Some whose names are not worth mentioning, 
and whose reputations are still worse.” 

“Dear me, dear me! The rascals, to suspect my 
son 1 ” fumed the old man. He walked excitedly up 
and down the room. By some occult process he 
connected these suspicions with his son’s stringency 
of cash, and blamed himself in proportion to his 
indignation. 

“My boy, my boy! this is all too bad, too bad! 
If I had allowed you your regular amount all this 
would not have happened. Such a thing could not 
then have happened.” 

“I do not see that, father, unless by having plenty 
of money as usual I should not have undertaken the 
treasurership. I do not see how this consequence 
flows from the premises. Indeed I think it more 
than likely had matters been normal with me I 
should have been treasurer just the same.” 

“Well, we must rectify all this. You want to go 
back to St. Cuthbert’s, or do you wish to stay 
away ?” 

“I want to go back, sir, of course, and graduate. 
And please, father,” said Roy right loyally, “please 
do not think these few boys represent St. Cuthbert’s. 
There are not a finer set of fellows in the world. 
These I spoke of are the exceptions.” 

This remark thoroughly pleased the father who 
was himself an alumnus of old St. Cuthbert’s. 

“And besides,” continued the young man, “I want 
to go back and live down the ugly rumor — for that 
is all it is — and make somebody eat his words. I 
know, I feel certain it will come out all right. 
Matters always do. I want to be there. If I were 
to stay away now, would it not be, at least for some, 
a sort of tacit acknowledgment, or at least it might 
be so construed by some unfriendly to me, who might 


ROY AND HIS FATHER 


i68 

say I knew more than I chose to tell and so kept 
away as soon as I had a chance to do so?’' 

“You are right, my boy; you are right. Go back 
and fight it down. Suspected of dishonesty! A 
Henning, too, preposterous I Yes, yes, you must go 
back, boy. You must go back.” 

“I am glad you look at it in that light, sir. I 
think it the best thing to do.” 

Mr. Henning drew from his pocket a bunch of 
keys. Opening his desk he took out a roll of bills. 

“You must consider your test, your trial, as over. 
It is over as far as I am concerned, and I am more 
than satisfied with you. You are free now to take 
up what sports you like, and spend, in moderation, 
what money you like, and in fact I leave your course 
of action entirely to yourself. I am sure I need have 
no fear for your prudence. Here, take this; you 
will need it.” 

Mr. Henning handed over to his son a fair-sized 
roll of bills. How much he gave we will not state, 
but leave the amount to the imagination of the 
reader, merely remarking that Mr. Henning was a 
very rich man, did few things by halves, and, at the 
moment, was actuated by the most generous impulse. 
In giving Roy the money, he remarked : “Give your 
cousin Andrew twenty-five dollars, with my regards. 
I suppose schoolboys are never very flush at this 
time of the year. I never was.” 

While Roy, with a bounding heart, was thanking 
his father, a loud ring of the door bell disturbed the 
quiet of the house. In a moment one of the servants 
brought in a telegram. 

“For Master Roy, sir,” she said. 

With a bow and a “Permit me” to his father, Roy 
opened the envelope and read : 


ROY AND HIS FATHER 169 

‘‘Come at once. Great news! St. C. 8. B. 3. 
Ambrose.” 

The mystified boy showed the telegram to his 
father. 

“Perhaps the first part refers to the robbery. You 
had better go. Can you bid your mother and aunt 
farewell and be ready at the depot by 7.30?” 

“Yes, quite easily.” 

“Very good. The carriage will be ready for you 
to catch the 7.30 train.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


The Great Blow 

N otwithstanding the death of his little sister, 
Roy left home with a lightened heart, owing 
to the more perfect and decidedly pleasanter 
understanding with his father. Had he not full per- 
mission to play ball, or do anything else he chose! 
If the reader thinks this was a small reason for being 
lighthearted, then it is safe to say that same reader 
never was a boy. Every real boy knows what that 
permission meant. Roy, as we know, was con- 
scientious. We know the struggle he went through. 
We know some of the unpleasant consequences 
which followed from conscientiously carrying out 
his father^s wishes. Just in proportion as the 
restriction had been bitter, this freedom now was 
sweet. He was a strong, healthy, vigorous boy, all 
his life used to outdoor exercise, delighting in all 
manly sports. Now he was free again! Free to 
enjoy it all! The promised delights appeared all 
the more entrancing from his long abstention from 
them. Would he not surprise the boys! No, he 
would give the credit, all of it, to Harry Gill. He 
would make it appear that the manager’s diplomacy 
had been irresistible. Gill should have an extra 
feather in his cap! 

And Garrett! What a pity he was developing 
such undesirable traits of character! Could he not 
be weaned in some way from those companions with 
whom at present he seemed so infatuated ? Roy was 
convinced that he was not really a bad fellow at 
170 


THE GREAT BLOW 


171 

heart. How could he be with such a mother as 
Aunt Helen? Was there ever a finer, more lovable 
woman, except his own mother? Her gentle touch, 
her womanly way, her wise and soothing words! 
What a treasure Andrew had, did he but realize it ! 
No, he could not be really bad with her influence, 
and the memory of her, and her prayers for him I 

These were some of the thoughts which passed 
through Roy’s mind as the train sped along in the 
darkness. Then he remembered Bracebridge’s tele- 
gram. He took it out of his pocket and read it 
again. He puzzled again over those words “Come 
at once.” What could they mean? Had the thief 
been discovered? 

His heart gave a great leap at the thought. But 
what if, after all, his suspicions had been well 
founded! What if the thief should prove to be 
Andrew Garrett! The thought made him sick at 
heart ; and yet — and yet ! oh, he must be mistaken 
in that surmise! Ambrose would not have wired 
him to come at once had the guilt been traced to 
Garrett. He would certainly have been in no hurry 
to bring him back to so unpleasant a state of affairs. 
In that supposition it would have been “great news” 
indeed, but most disastrous news. No, it must be 
some one else, if the message meant what he hoped 
it did mean. 

“And so the first great match has come off vic- 
toriously,” he said to himself. “Good! good!” 

He fell into a train of pleasant thoughts during 
which he looked so bright and so happy that an old 
lady on the opposite seat, who had watched him for 
some time, smiled kindly at him. Roy returned the 
smile. She was quite advanced in years and evi- 
dently traveled but rarely. She liked the look of the 
bright, handsome face before her, whose youthful 


172 


THE GREAT BLOW 


sparkling eyes spoke goodness and enthusiasm, and 
whose clear skin at this moment showed a decided 
flush of joy. 

‘‘Are you going home?” she ventured timidly. 

“No, ma'am. Fm leaving home.” 

She looked puzzled. It was contrary to her ex- 
perience to see children so happy on leaving home. 
Roy enjoyed her puzzled look for a minute, and then 
explained : 

“I am not going home, but I have just left the 
best father and mother in the world, and am now 
going back to school to join the best and truest 
friends a fellow could find anywhere on this round 
earth.” 

“Is that so ! lam glad to hear it. If they are all 
like you they must be good boys.” 

Roy actually blushed. Just then the conductor 
called the old lady's station. As she arose and with 
the assistance of Roy gathered her traveling impedi- 
menta, she said : 

“Keep that bright smile, my dear, and remember 
that no one can keep so bright a face unless he keeps 
a bright soul within. I am an old woman, and I 
know what I say.” 

Now while Roy retires to his sleeper to get as 
much rest as is possible on the rail, we will hurry 
forward and learn why he was wired to come at 
once, and find out what has been happening during 
the last few days at St. Cuthbert's. 

The Blandyice team arrived before noon on the 
day Ambrose had sent the message to his friend. 
Their manager told Gill that the condition of their 
coming was that they returned on the 3.50 train of 
that afternoon. The game, consequently, began at 
one o'clock. It was over by three, with the result 
already known. 


THE GREAT BLOW 


m 


The day had been extremely hot, with not a breath 
of air stirring. The atmosphere was stifling. All 
nature seemed to be in a dead calm. Even the dogs 
sought shady spots and lay still and panted. The 
afternoon seemed more oppressive than an August 
day, because so early in the summer every one was 
unaccustomed to the great heat. 

As the game was finished by three o’clock on a 
recreation day, there were three vacant hours before 
supper time. Owing to the unusual sultriness few 
cared to tramp over the hills, or along the lower 
road of the valley. A few, however, started out, 
either to walk, or hunt black squirrels on the higher, 
wooded grounds in the rear of the college. 

About four a slight breeze began to blow from 
the southwest, cooling the atmosphere very con- 
siderably. 

“Ah, that’s fine!” said Jack Beecham, as he faced 
the breeze and filled his lungs with the cooler air. 
“That’s fine! My, but it was hot! Never knew it 
so hot in May before in my life. Oh, look, Am- 
brose,” and he pointed to the direction from which 
the breeze was coming, “look at that queer-shaped 
cloud !” 

Bracebridge looked toward the southwest. Dark, 
coppery clouds were forming and rapidly approach- 
ing. The temperature dropped suddenly many 
degrees. The cooler breeze became stronger and 
soon it was a wind. Before many minutes elapsed 
it was a very high wind in which it was difficult to 
stand steadily. 

Suddenly a brilliant flash of lightning leaped from 
the now leaden sky. The boys could hear the electric 
discharge snap and crackle against the sides of the 
buildings. It was followed almost instantly by a 
deafening crash of thunder, tropical in its intensity. 


174 


THE GREAT BLOW 


Down came the rain, not in drops, but apparently in 
sheets of water. Flash followed flash, peal suc- 
ceeded peal, and the wind grew more furious every 
moment. 

Bracebridge, Shealey, Beecham, and Harry Gill 
watched the terrific war from the Philosophy class- 
room window. 

Ever and anon the downpour would cease, but 
the wind did not abate. At intervals could be seen 
the havoc the wind was doing. The air was thick 
with leaves and twigs and straw. In the lowlands 
the boys saw the rail fences carried away like 
matches and deposited over the fields. An old 
wooden windmill tower was toppled over. Boards 
and shingles and slates were flying everywhere. 

All knew that such violent warfare must be brief. 
Already in the west there was a streak of light 
beneath the clouds. Before the storm had spent its 
fury the watchers at the window were to witness 
a remarkable sight. 

Behind the college there was, as has often been 
remarked, thickly wooded high ground. The boys 
at the window were watching the hillside path, which 
every now and then was obscured by the rain. Sud- 
denly a forked bolt struck the largest tree on the 
hillside, and hurled to the ground across the 
college walk at least one-third of it. The boys looked 
at each other in a frightened way. In the mind of 
each was : ‘What if the college had been struck 

When the deafening thunder-crash had passed, 
Bracebridge, for the sake of saying something, re- 
marked : 

“It’s lucky that none of us were out in such a 
storm.” 

“We would have been nicely drenched, eh?” said 
Tom Shealey. 


THE GREAT BLOW 


175 

“No one of common-sense would be out,” said 
Beecham ; “all would run to ^belter somewhere.” 

“But some may have been too far away to reach 
it. You know how sudden the storm was,” observed 
Bracebridge. 

“What on earth is that ?” suddenly exclaimed Tom 
Shealey, as he pointed to something or some one 
crossing the yard. After the last thunder-crash the 
rain had ceased suddenly. The wind dropped, and 
the storm, furious while it lasted, spent itself. The 
boys threw open the classroom window to get a 
better view of the yard. Some one had entered from 
the field gate nearest the woods. He was drenched ; 
his hat was gone ; his hair dishevelled. He was white 
and frightened. Although his clothes clung to his 
skin he was making violent, meaningless gestures as 
he ran, and appeared to be gibbering or muttering 
something as if in that stage of fright which borders 
on imbecility. 

“It is Smithers,” shouted Shealey. “Let’s go and 
see what’s up. Hurry !” 

“What’s up, Smithers ? What’s happened ?” asked 
Shealey, a moment later, hatless and breathless. 

The frightened boy had a scared, wild look. He 
muttered something quite unintelligible. His lips 
were dry and white. 

“Now be calm. Tell us quietly what has hap- 
pened,” said Bracebridge. 

Smithers again gibbered something. The listeners 
could make nothing of it. They began to think the 
boy had lost his reason. 

“ — prefect — dead — struck — innocent,” were 
some of the words caught by the listening boys. 

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Beecham, “the pre- 
fect is dead, struck by lightning, up on the hill walk. 
Is that it, Smithers ?” 


176 


THE GREAT BLOW 


The one appealed to, not fully comprehending the 
question, and half beside himself, nodded assent. 

‘^Gill, quick, go at once to the President. Then 
take care of this fellow. Send a priest as soon as 
you can up the hill. Jack and Tom, you come with 
me. 

Ambrose naturally assumed the leadership in the 
emergency. The three ran along the walk and up 
the hillside path as fast as their legs could carry them. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


The Fallen Tree 

H aving seen from the classroom a large part of 
the great oak fall when the bolt came, the 
three boys supposed that was the spot where 
the tragedy must have taken place. They noticed 
the havoc the storm had wrought. Many large limbs 
of trees were scattered across their path. In several 
places the walk was washed out, leaving large gullies. 
On the thickly wooded hillside the damage was the 
greatest. 

Arriving at the oak tree they were at a loss. They 
saw no sign of any human being. They picked up 
Smithers’ plaid cloth cap which he had lost in his 
wild flight homeward. Beecham began to beat it 
against a young sapling to rid it of some of the mud. 

must go farther yet. This is not the place,'’ 
said Ambrose. 

Fully one- third of the great oak tree had been 
riven from the trunk. It lay across their path, neces- 
sitating a detour amid the still dripping underbrush 
to pass it. The oak was in the full of its early 
summer foliage, forming an impenetrable green wall 
across the hillside path. 

As they were threading their way through the 
thick low growth on the upper side, Jack Beecham 
glanced into the dense mass of fallen foliage. His 
eyes were caught by something black beneath the 
green. Thinking it was perhaps an old log, blown 
there by the storm before the lightning damaged the 
oak, he was about to pass on, but gave a second look. 
177 


178 


THE FALLEN TREE 


The black thing under the leaves was surely not a 
bough ! Again he peered into the tree-top. 

“Great heavens! there he is under that oak!’’ he 
said. 

The three pushing aside the boughs saw the 
bleeding, white face of some one who was apparently 
dead. 

“Poor Mr. Shalford !” exclaimed Shealey. 

“Nonsense! Don’t you see that’s not Mr. Shal- 
ford at all. It’s one of the boys. Who can it be ?” 

They all looked again into the leaves, and were 
satisfied that it was not their prefect. 

“Who is it?” asked Shealey. 

“I believe it is — it is Stockley,” said Bracebridge. 

“You don’t say!” exclaimed Shealey, “at all 
events we must get him out of that tangle, dead or 
alive.” 

“I don’t believe that oak killed him, anyway,” 
remarked Jack Beecham. 

“Why?” asked Ambrose, in a whisper, for in the 
presence of death they were awed. 

“Look here,” said Beecham, “no big limb has 
reached him. These twigs and leaves would give 
one a sharp switch when falling, and probably knock 
him down, but they are too small to break any 
bones.” 

“Maybe that’s true. Well, we shall soon find out,” 
said Ambrose. “Now, boys, how are we to get him 
clear of that tree-top?” 

They procured a strong stick, and while two lifted 
as many of the small boughs as they could. Brace- 
bridge pushed the pole over the prostrate body. He 
then raised his end, the other being on the ground 
on the other side of the body. The two other boys 
took hold of Stockley’s shoulders and successfully 
drew him from under the tree, as, fortunately, he 


THE FALLEN TREE 


179 


had not been caught by any of the larger limbs. 
Gently as possible they drew him out from under the 
mass of foliage, but gentle as they were, they 
necessarily used some force. To their surprise — 
and satisfaction — they heard him groan. He was 
not dead after all, but undoubtedly badly hurt. 

No sooner had Stockley been extricated than Mr. 
Shalford appeared. The boys who were bending 
over the prostrate body looked up. 

''Oh, sir!’’ said Ambrose, "we thought it was 
you,” and he pointed to Stockley. There was love in 
the tone, making Mr. Shalford treasure the simple 
words for many a day. 

"Why?” 

"That stupid Smithers said so. I think he was 
too 'frightened to know what he was saying.” 

The moving of Stockley restored him to a state of 
semi-consciousness, in which he talked incoherently. 
One arm hung loosely, evidently broken above the 
elbow. When touched in the ribs the suffering boy 
groaned aloud, so that it was quite probable that 
some were fractured. There was a cut on the fore- 
head, and another on the lower lip. The injuries, as 
far as could be then learned, while serious, were not 
necessarily fatal. 

A priest from the college having arrived, the rest 
withdrew some paces while the minister of God tried 
to elicit some act of conscious sorrow for sin. It 
seemed to the boys that he succeeded, for from the 
distance they saw him raise his hand and make the 
sign of the cross as in sacramental absolution. 

"I do not think he will die,” said the priest as the 
others drew near. "See there, that is what must 
have done the mischief. He was caught up here in 
the wind-storm, and one of those dead limbs struck 
him. You say you found him beneath the tops of 


i8o 


THE FALLEN TREE 


the fallen oak. Those twigs could not have inflicted 
these injuries.’^ 

Intermittently Stockley muttered incoherent words. 
Bracebridge and Beecham knelt on either side of 
him, nervously anxious to catch every sound. Un- 
known to each other, both had simultaneously formed 
a strange suspicion. Once both distinctly heard the 
words: “Clear — Henning.” What could that 

mean? They caught the word “letter,” but to neither 
did this convey intelligence, because neither knew of 
the existence of the copy or draft of that letter which 
Roy Henning had written to some unknown friend. 
They heard other disconnected words, for instance, 
“sweater,” and “Garrett,” but these words had no 
meaning for them. They did not, for all that, lose 
a single word, but stored up everything in their 
memories, being sure that something would come of 
it in good time. 

Harry Gill and others arrived with a wire mat- 
tress, the best temporary substitute for a stretcher. 
There was no lack of willing hands to convey the 
injured boy down the hill to the infirmary. 

Giirs report of Smithers’ frantic words spread 
like wildfire in the yard. Most of the boys believed 
the kindly prefect had been killed by a falling tree. 
Few had seen him after the report began, because 
he had at once started for the walk. 

Notwithstanding the appalling nature of the ac- 
cident, when the boys saw Mr. Shalford return safe 
and sound they could scarce refrain from giving a 
hearty cheer. One began to wave his hat and was 
on the point of opening his mouth. Mr. Shalford 
was immensely surprised at such a strange proceed- 
ing at such a solemn moment, never for a moment 
dreaming it was all for him. He stopped all noise 
with an imperative “Hush!” 


THE FALLEN TREE 


i8i 


All the boys clustered around the infirmary steps 
awaiting the reappearance of the prefect. In about 
half an hour he came. He told the boys the extent 
of Stockley's injuries, and said that it was the phy- 
sician's opinion that none of the wounds were likely 
to prove fatal. 

‘‘Hurrah for Mr. Shalford!" shouted George 
McLeod. 

“McLeod, are you taking leave of your senses? 
If you don’t be quiet I’ll send you back to Mr. Sil- 
verton to the division yard.” 

But the boys took up McLeod’s lead and gave 
three cheers for the prefect. 

“And what on earth is that for?” he asked. 

“Why, sir, don’t you know ? Smithers said you 
were killed!” 

“Smithers was too excited to know what he was 
saying.” 

“But you are not killed — that’s the point. Hur- 
rah!” In spite of himself the prefect was again 
cheered. Do what he would, put his fingers to his 
lips, point to the infirmary, wave down the noise 
with his hand, he could not stop the boys giving one 
more shout for his safety. 

When Bracebridge and Beecham were again alone 
in their room, the former said : 

“What do you make of it all ?” 

“I think it is very important.” 

“I think so too.” 

“You heard all he said ?” 

“Every word.” 

“I am not sure,” said Jack, “but I believe there is 
a rift in the cloud for dear old Roy. Fancy, Brose! 
suppose this wounded boy should know all about the 
robbery !” 

“And we could make him tell,” added Bracebridge. 


i 82 


THE FALLEN TREE 


tell you what I think/’ continued Jack, ‘‘it is 
my conviction that he not only knows all about the 
thieving, but that he ” 

“Oh, don’t say that,” urged Ambrose. “I know 
what you think. I believe I think the same, but 
don’t like to give it expression.” 

“I don’t mind doing so if it will lead to the clear- 
ing of Henning.” 

“I wish I knew what he meant — what was on his 
mind when he mentioned Garrett and his sweater! 
And what could he mean by repeating frequently, 
'letter, letter, Garrett.’ It’s all a mystery to me as 
yet. I do wish Roy was here. Maybe he knows 
what the words mean. Perhaps Roy could get 
Stockley to tell who the thief was, that is, supposing 
he really knows.” 

“It seems clear to me,” said Beecham, “that Stock- 
ley knows something. But who can say what that 
something is? Say! Suppose you telegraph for 
Henning. Give him to-day’s score, too. He’ll want 
to know that.” 

“That’s a great idea. I’ll do it,” said Ambrose. 

“All right. Do it at once, so that he may get the 
message in time to start to-night and be here early 
to-morrow morning, should he consider the affair 
important enough.” 

Thus the telegraphic message was sent to Roy 
Henning. 

When Smithers had recovered from his fright 
sufficiently to be able to talk sensibly, Beecham and 
Shealey plied him with questions about the accident. 
He said, substantially : 

“We were at the other end of the forest path 
when the storm came up — Stockley and I. We 
took shelter in the cave for some time until the water 
began to flow in from above and drove us out. Then 


THE FALLEN TREE 


183 


we made for home. It was very dangerous. Sticks 
and limbs were flying in all directions. We had 
passed the big oak by about thirty feet when Stock- 
ley was struck by a piece of a branch about four feet 
long and as thick as your arm. It hit him on the 
arm and on the chest or side. He fell with a scream. 
At that moment there came a brilliant flash, and a 
bolt of lightning struck quite close to us, blinding 
me for a few seconds. I was about ten feet ahead 
of Stockley when it came. I was so frightened I 
thought I would go crazy. When I could see again 
I saw the oak tree falling right where he was lying. 
I never was so frightened in my life. Then I ran 
home, believing he was killed. I don’t remember 
how I got down the hill, or what I said after.” 

“Will you answer me one question, Smithers?” 
asked Beecham. 

“If I can, yes. What is it ?” 

“When the accident happened were you two talk- 
ing about Henning and the robbery last Christmas ?” 

“Yes,” he answered, “we were. I’m sorry now I 
had anything to do with it.” 

“With what?” asked Beecham with a nervous 
start. Foolish fellow. He was not cool enough. 
The other fellow took immediate alarm. 

“Oh, nothing!” and he refused to say anything 
more, and walked away. 

“That was too bad,” said Beecham to himself, very 
much chagrined. “If I had been a little more diplo- 
matic I might have wormed out of him all he knew 
of the matter.” 

Now Jack was indeed sorely puzzled. Did 
Smithers mean that he was sorry that he had talked 
to Stockley about it, or did he mean that he was 
now, under the influence of a great fright, sorry 
that he had participated in the robbery? 


184 


THE FALLEN TREE 


Beecham sat a long time on a bench tilted against 
the wall, disconsolate and severely bringing himself 
to task. 

‘'Here am I,” he said, “with conceit enough to 
imagine I have brains enough to become a lawyer, 
and at the very first opportunity for an important 
cross-questioning I make a decided goose of myself. 
Pshaw ! I wish some one would kick me ! I deserve 
itr 

When Beecham found Bracebridge and told him 
what he had done, the latter laughingly admitted the 
sentence which Jack had passed upon himself ought 
to be immediately executed, and volunteered to be 
the executioner. 

“You did make a mess of it, certainly. There’s 
no telling what the boy knows — much more than 
he will ever reveal, I’m thinking. We can now only 
wait for Roy. He wired that he would be here to- 
morrow morning.” 

“ ’Rah for Roy! He’s the one we want!” shouted 
Jack with renewed enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER XXV 
Surprises for Roy 

H enning arrived at the Cuthberton depot at 
seven in the morning. In stepping from the 
sleeper he was surprised to see Ambrose 
Bracebridge awaiting him. 

“Welcome back, old fellow, to St. Cuthbert’s,” 
said Ambrose. “I was very sorry to hear of your 
loss. May she rest in peace,” and the gentlemanly 
boy raised his hat reverently. 

“Thank you,” said Roy, warmly shaking hands, 
“thanks. It was very sudden. Poor little Ethel 
died a saint if ever there was one.” 

“I have not forgotten you in your absence. I 
have the promise of five Masses for her from the 
Fathers. I felt sure that would be pleasing to you.” 

“Thanks, indeed !” He was touched by his friend’s 
thoughtfulness, and the remembrance of Ethel 
brought a big lump into his throat, and for a moment 
there was a catching of the breath. “Excuse me, 
Ambrose. Your kindness — our sudden loss — my 
heart is wrenched — her — she — oh! you know 
how it is 1” 

“Yes, yes, I know ” 

“And I have come back,” said Roy, certainly ir- 
relevantly, “I have come back under the most favor- 
able conditions with respect to my father.” 

“Yes ?” answered Ambrose, quite ignorant of what 
the conditions might be. Roy saw that for all their 
talks, Bracebridge remembered nothing of the pre- 
vious relations between himself and his father. He 
saw by his questioning “yes,” and by his eyes, which 
185 


i86 


SURPRISES FOR ROY 


were nothing less than interrogation points, that his 
friend was curious to learn more, although he 
delicately refrained from asking. 

‘‘It’s a long story, Brosie, old man. I can’t tell it 
to you now on the platform here. I’ll tell you some 
time to-day — after we have had breakfast. I am 
as hungry as a wolf. Let’s go to a hotel and get 
breakfast.” 

“No, the college carriage is outside waiting for 
you, and breakfast for four is to be ready by the time 
we get back.” 

“For four?” 

“Why, yes. Didn’t I tell you that Harry Gill and 
Jack are waiting outside in the carriage? The ticket 
man at the gate wouldn’t let them in. I was the 
least suspicious-looking of the three, I suppose.” 

“Let’s be off, then,” said Roy. 

Both made a grab simultaneously at Roy’s suit 
case. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Yes, I do,” answered Ambrose, keeping hold of 
it. They both tugged for a moment or two, much to 
the amusement of two ladies in an opposite train 
who burst out into merry laughter at the friendly 
contest. 

Warm greetings awaited Roy in the carriage. 
After the welcoming was over, and the delicate con- 
dolences tendered, Roy leaned over to Gill’s ear and 
whispered something. Whatever the whispering 
was about it ended by Roy putting his finger over his 
lips as an admonition to remain silent. 

The information conveyed to Gill must have been 
of a startling nature for he immediately proceeded 
to behave as if he were suffering from a fit. He 
threw up his heels into Bracebridge’s lap, clutched 
the carriage strap with one hand and Beecham’s 


SURPRISES FOR ROY 


187 


coat collar by the other, and began to scream at the 
top of his voice. Roy held his sides at the other’s 
antics. Ambrose guessed the cause of Gill’s jubila- 
tion, but Jack Beecham was quite in the dark. 

‘‘Here! take this maniac off, or I’ll soon be a 
physical wreck,” he shouted. 

“By the way, Ambrose,” asked Henning, “what 
is the great news you wired you had for me? But 
first how did the great game come off ?” 

Then all three in their enthusiasm began to talk 
at once and independently of each other. Each 
described what he considered the beauties and fine 
points of the game. 

In the midst of this jumble of words, from which 
Roy managed to pick out a deal of information about 
the game, the carriage drove into the college 
grounds. 

The prefect at once hurried the four into the in- 
firmary building where a somewhat elaborate break- 
fast had been prepared for them. 

“Get along, boys. Clear out now. These boys 
are hungry. You can see Roy after breakfast. 
There is plenty of time to hear all the news, if he 
has any to tell. Now, John, let no boy into the in- 
firmary this morning without my permission.” 

“All right, Mr. Shalford. I’ll keep them out, sure 
enough,” answered the kind old fellow who attended 
to the wants of the sick. This time he was as good 
as his word, for as soon as the four were fairly 
inside he shut the door and locked it. 

During the breakfast — such a breakfast the in- 
firmarian explained he had to get up once in a while 
to keep his hand in for convalescents who had to be 
coaxed to eat to get strong, an explanation readily 
admitted by the four — Henning’s three friends told 
him of the wind-storm and of the accident to Stock- 


i88 


SURPRISES FOR ROY 


ley. They told him how through Smithers^ in- 
coherence of speech they had first believed that Mr. 
Shalford had been crushed by the falling oak ; how 
Stockley had been found beneath the branches, and, 
finally, how when he had returned to semi-conscious- 
ness he had uttered some very strange words which 
might mean nothing at all or a great deal for Hen- 
ning. Roy, as he gradually learned the full partic- 
ulars became very much interested and finally in- 
tensely excited. Was he going to have the wretched 
affair of the robbery cleared up at last? Did this 
boy know who the thief was? Could he point him 
out? Would he do so? And what if, after all, his 
suspicions about his own cousin should prove correct ! 

While he was thus pondering, and listening to his 
friends’ suggestions and information, Mr. Shalford 
came in. 

‘‘Henning,” he said, “you may be surprised that 
I did not let Garrett go to the depot to meet you. 
The fact is, these rascals here begged so hard that 
I could not find the heart to refuse them, and you 
know that the old-fashioned carriage will only hold 
four. To make amends I will send Garrett to you 
at once. He has asked several times to be allowed 
to come in, bift I refused until you had finished your 
breakfast.” 

A minute later Andrew Garrett entered, holding 
out his hand in sympathy to Roy, as he walked across 
the room. There was a wonderful change in the 
boy. He looked better than he had looked for 
months. The blotches and disfiguring pimples had 
disappeared. Healthy food, regular meals, and be- 
ing much out of doors had effected that. But there 
was a change of countenance as well as of face. 
There was a look of candor not usually seen there of 
late. The eyes were steady and had lost much of 


SURPRISES FOR RO Y 


189 


their restlessness. There was at this moment a grati- 
fying air about Garrett which plainly indicated that 
he wanted to repair any injustice and wrong which 
he had formerly done to his cousin. 

Henning was very much puzzled at the change, 
which was more apparent to him than to the others 
who witnessed the meeting. 

“Poor little cousin Ethel. Oh, Roy, I’m so sorry. 
She was such a charming child I” 

Roy looked at him in surprise. Could this be the 
boy who had done him so much injury and had kept 
the secret all these months? What to make of the 
tone, the evident look of candor, the change in Gar- 
rett, Roy did not know. Sensible fellow as he was, 
he made the most of it, judging that if the present 
meeting were merely a piece of good acting on An- 
drew’s part, he would sooner or later find out the 
true state of affairs. So he offered his hand to Gar- 
rett and it was pressed with genuine sympathy. 

“And how does Aunty bear the shock ?” 

Roy told him. 

“And mother ? Did you see my mother ?” 

“I did, Andrew, and she grieves quite as much as 
my mother and father. She sends her love, and 
Papa sends this with his kindest regards to his 
nephew.” 

Roy gave the sealed envelope, containing the elder 
Henning’s present. Garrett did not open it at once. 
He said: 

“I have several things I wish to say to you when 
we are alone. Of course you have heard by this 
time all about the accident to Stockley?” 

He then whispered to Roy: 

“There’s more behind this than you think. Get 
rid of these fellows for a little while. I have a lot 
to say to you.” 


190 


SURPRISES FOR ROY 


can not just now/ • Roy whispered back. ‘‘You 
see they are in a way my guests for the present. To 
send them away would not only offend, but it would 
be very unkind.” 

“Very well then; as soon as you can be alone in 
the yard this morning ?” 

“All right.” 

Garrett then joined in the general conversation 
around the breakfast table. Roy was much puzzled. 
He could not understand Andrew at all. Never 
during the whole time that Garrett had been with 
him at St. Cuthbert’s had he acted in so cousinly a 
manner. Roy wondered whether the change had 
been brought about by Ethehs death. Yet unless 
Andrew was playing a much deeper game than his 
cousin gave him credit for being able to play, his 
advances — for they were in Roy’s estimation dis- 
tinct advances — were genuine. He gave up the 
problem as too hard of solution — and waited. 

His cogitations were soon cut short. The phy- 
sician came down stairs from his morning visit to 
the injured boy. 

“No, I do not think the boy will die,” they heard 
him remark to the infirmarian, “I am sure he will 
not, although he thinks he is going to. He’ll be all 
right in a few weeks. What ? I told you last night 
— two ribs and his arm.” 

“Can he see any one ?” asked the infirmarian. 

“He had better be kept quiet for a few days. By 
the way, he said something about wanting to see a 
Troy, or a Joy, or some such name — and some one 
else. Who was it, Denning, Heming, Henning — 
some such name.” 

“It’s all one person, doctor. It’s Roy Henning 
he wants to see. May he see him?” 

“Yes, I think it would be better to let him see this 


SURPRISES FOR ROY 


191 

boy as soon as he wishes. There appears to be some- 
thing important that he has to say which he wants 
to get off his mind. Yes, let him see this boy — a 
chum of his, I suppose. Perhaps it will do him good. 
Can not do any harm.'' 

chum of his! Ugh!" said Roy, sotto voce. 
There was really so comical a look of disgust on his 
face that the other boys, who were watching him 
closely, burst out laughing. The infirmarian came 
in : 

‘‘The doctor says ye can see the one with a broken 
arm, though what he do be wantin' ye for, I dunno. 
It's sorry I am to be hearing ye lost your sister. 
Master Roy, an' sure the Lord'll be having mercy 
on her." 

“Thank you very much, for your kind wishes." 

His friends now left him, wishing him all sorts of 
success in the interview. He thanked them, but did 
not go upstairs. Instead, he went to the window and 
looked out as if expecting some one. Some time 
later his friends were surprised to see him still stand- 
ing there. Mr. Shalford thought that by this time 
the interview must be nearly over. He, too, was 
surprised to see Henning gazing out of the break- 
fast-room window. The prefect went over to him. 

“Why are you not talking with Stockley?" he 
asked rather sharply. 

“For two reasons, sir. I am a little nervous at 
present. You know how much depends for me on 
what that boy will say. I want to be cool, so I am 
waiting a little while. Secondly, I do not intend to 
go there alone." 

“Not go alone! Why! What do you mean? Are 
you afraid ?" 

“No, sir. But if this fellow should, and somehow 
I think he can, say something to exculpate me, what 


192 


SURPRISES FOR ROY 


good would his statement, or perhaps admission, be 
to me without witnesses ? I should be just where I 
was before/' 

‘‘You are right. You should have witnesses. 
Whom do you want ?" 

“Ambrose and Jack and Rob Jones, if you like, 
sir.” 

“No; two are enough. I will send Bracebridge 
and Beecham to you at once.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Stockley's Story 

W HEN our unfortunate treasurer of the pitching 
cage fund entered the sickroom he was 
scarcely prepared for what he found there. 
The room, to his imagination, resembled an 
emergency hospital. The air was impregnated with 
the odors of arnica, and iodine and ether ^ decidedly 
sickly smells to one coming in suddenly and not 
accustomed to them. 

On the table near the bed where Stockley was 
lying were a number of bottles, gauze, and sponges 
and the remains of a light breakfast. The boy was 
propped up with pillows, his broken arm in splints 
resting on one, while another was gently pressed 
against his fractured ribs. 

Stockley was not an ill-featured boy. It is true 
that he had somewhat neglected his personal appear- 
ance of late, but there was nothing about him that 
was really repulsive, and now after his alcohol bath 
and with his hair well brushed from his forehead he 
appeared quite presentable. He had a fine mouth 
and his eyes were large and clear. His forehead was 
high and intelligent, and notwithstanding his faults 
one could not fail to recognize a sort of innate no- 
bility in him, and Roy discovered something more 
than even this as he watched him. He saw on his 
face a softened, chastened look. His countenance 
showed that softening effect which appears in so 
193 


194 


STOCKLEY’S STORY 


peculiar yet unmistakable a way immediately after 
receiving one of the sacraments of the Church. His 
look was subdued and yet exalted. There was a 
species of radiance on the face which Roy felt he 
could not define, but yet was quite discernible. There 
was also a change of manner of speech. Stockley 
had been very close to the gates of death and that 
tremendous fact had changed his views, and the 
sacrament of Penance had the effect of softening his 
hitherto somewhat hard exterior conduct and manner 
and he was even now under the apprehension that it 
was quite doubtful whether he would recover from 
his injuries, although the physician had told him 
that unless most unexpected complications ensued 
there was no danger. He was nevertheless quite 
frightened, and was now very serious. It must not 
be understood, however, that the story he told was 
due to his fright, for he had quite a different motive 
in relating what he did. 

Roy saw the change in the boy, yet he could not 
help but regard him with disfavor, although he de- 
termined to be perfectly just to him. He was 
anxious, also, to keep his wits about him in order to 
lose nothing of what might be said. In justice to 
himself he meant to get the whole story, although in 
his heart of hearts he had the sickening dread that 
this boy lying wounded and bruised before him 
would confirm his worst fears concerning his cousin 
Garrett. 

Henning realized that the present moment was a 
critical one in his life ; that now, or perhaps never, 
would all suspicion be removed. He felt that if this 
interview should result in nothing not already known, 
and he remain under the unjust and cruel suspicion, 
it would compel him to reconsider seriously his pur- 
pose of entering the seminary. Was there not also a 


STOCKLErS STORY 


195 


possibility that the bishop would reject him — would 
be compelled to reject him — upon learning that his 
character for honesty was impugned? 

All this and much more he saw as he stood by the 
bedside of the injured boy, waiting for him to speak. 
While waiting he offered a fervent prayer to the 
Sacred Heart for direction for himself, and that if it 
were in Stockley’s power to do so, he might clear up 
everything. 

To see Henning at this moment one would never 
imagine that he was very much excited. His two 
friends thought he was taking the matter very coolly. 
He stood at the bedside with his hands in the side 
pockets of his trousers, and with as much apparent 
nonchalance as if he were watching a ball-game. 

Perceiving that Stockley would not, or at least did 
not begin the conversation, he remarked : 

‘T am sorry that you have met with so serious and 
so terrible an accident.” 

There was no reply. Stockley put out his un- 
injured hand, but Roy did not take it. He felt that 
there was something in the character of the boy lying 
before him that was entirely antagonistic to his own 
character and disposition. They were the opposites 
of each other in almost everything. The one was 
animated with noble and generous impulses, with 
exalted ideals of life and duty and goodness. The 
other, as far as Roy had known him, was the an- 
tithesis of all this. Seeing that Stockley did not 
speak, he again made an attempt to open the con- 
versation. 

‘The infirmarian tells me that you wish to say 
something to me.” 

“Yes,” said the other in a low voice. He was 
really suffering a great deal of pain. “Yes, won't 
you all take chairs ? Sit down, all of you.” 


196 


STOCKLErS STORY 


“Thanks, I prefer to stand,” said Roy, but the 
other two found seats. 

“But it is rather a long story I have determined 
to tell. It will take some time.” 

Roy sat down. 

“That’s right. It makes it easier for me to say 
what I am going to tell.” 

Henning nodded his head, without venturing a 
reply. 

“You seem rather sour with me.” 

“No. Excuse me if I appear so. I am anxious to 
hear what you have to say.” 

“By the way, where is Smithers ? Why hasn’t he 
been up here to see me ? Where is he ?” 

“I know nothing about him. You know I have 
only arrived from home this morning. As yet I have 
no news of the yard.” 

“Well, he might have come, seeing how thick we 
have been. But there! I’m not going to say any- 
thing about him, or about anybody but myself.” 

Roy nodded his head in approbation. 

“Ah! that suits you. You pious fellows are so 
particular about what is said about one’s neighbor. 
I must be careful. You are right, of course, and 
besides I received a pretty close call, up there on the 
hillside, so I am going to try to undo some of the 
harm I have done. The chaplain has urged me, too.” 

“Yes, be careful, please. But what is your story?” 

“I was brought up,” he began in a low voice, “in a 
strange, unwholesome way. I suppose heredity, or 
at least environment, must have something to do 
with my tendencies and disposition. The only piece 
of good fortune I have had was in being sent to St. 
Cuthbert’s, but, now when it is too late, I see how I 
have missed my chances here. Ever since I can 
remember, my father has been a heavy drinker and 


STOCKLErS STORY 


197 


our home has been one of squalid discomfort, and I 
became more or less soured with everything and 
everybody and found myself doing many a mean 
thing. Do you know who it was who put the sus- 
picion of theft on you ? Three of us worked that, or 
strictly speaking, two. It was I and Smithers, and 
occasionally — once in a great while — your cousin 
Garrett.” 

‘‘So I have thought all along; in fact I knew it,” 
said Henning, “but why on earth did you do such a 
thing ? Do you not know how much I have suffered 
from this ? And you must know how terribly hard 
this was to bear.” 

“I know very well. Why did we do it? I, for 
one, was thoroughly envious of your popularity. I 
was angry, as a good many others were, at your 
refusal to play baseball or football. I did not, and 
to tell you the truth, do not like you, and I wanted 
to do something to vex you. Of course I see these 
things now in a different light after confession. You 
know I have been to confession, don't you.” 

“I suspected as much. I am glad of that. So 
you started the cowardly rumor against my honesty 
all the time knowing I was innocent.” 

Henning was determined to be diplomatic, so the 
question was not put as in anger, or with any ap- 
parent excitement or resentment, but rather as if he 
were helping the boy make a full confession by sug- 
gesting to him facts known to both. 

“Yes, I acted this way knowing you to be inno- 
cent,” answered Stockley. 

“Did you realize that you might have ruined me 
for life?” 

“To be honest, I never dreamed of such a result. 
It was done simply to annoy you, and for no other 
reason, on my part.” 


198 


STOCKLEY'S STORY 


‘‘Did you suggest this to Garrett, or he to you?’’ 
asked Roy. 

“To do him justice, I must say that we, Smithers 
and I, suggested it to him. We had a hard job to 
bring him over, in fact he never did really come 
over. He would never let the letter be circulated.” 

“Letter! What letter? What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you know ? That was my biggest card and 
it fell flat. Don’t know? Oh, well, if you don’t 
know about the letter, you must ask your cousin. 
He wouldn’t give it up. I guess he’s got it yet.” 

Roy was much mystified. He could not imagine 
what the letter could be, or what bearing it had on 
the case. 

“Stockley, you have told us some things of im- 
portance. Now will you not go farther? You know 
I am innocent of the robbery, and of any possible 
connection with it?” 

“No doubt about that,” said the other. 

“Now to make your story complete, and of im- 
mense value to me, will you not reiterate your state- 
ment before Bracebridge and Beecham here that you 
know me to be innocent of all the charges which 
have been circulated about me in the yard ?” 

“Why, yes. I repeat emphatically that you are 
guiltless of them all.” 

“Thanks ! thanks ! You are sure of what you say?” 

“Quite sure. You are scot-free.” 

“Thanks again. Now, Stockley, as you are quite 
sure, do you not see the only way in which you can 
convince others that you are correct is to admit you 
know the thief ?” 

The boy on the bed laughed. 

“Well, Henning, I suppose you think you have 
caught me nicely. You think I have either said too 
much or too little. If I had not been to confession 


STOCKLEY^S STORY 


199 


I should not have allowed you to drive me into this 
corner, but I did not intend to stop at this. Yes, I 
will tell you the name of the thief.” 

“Who is he?” asked Roy, as calmly as he could, 
although he felt himself half choking with suppressed 
excitement. 

“I must continue my story. When I have done 
you will know. What time is it ?” 

“Twenty minutes to ten,” answered Roy. 

“You've got it yet,” said the boy, pointing his 
finger at Roy’s watch, which he still held in his hand. 

“What ? The watch ? Oh ! yes.” It was a rather 
small gold hunting-case watch. 

“That watch was the cause of the robbery,” said 
Stockley dramatically. Henning clicked the watch 
shut with a start, and put it back in his pocket. 

“This watch the cause of the robbery ! What on 
earth are you talking about? Your senses must be 
leaving you ” 

“Just*wait. You’ll soon see I’m not wandering. 
Why should there be such an unequal distribution of 
wealth, and of the good things of the world ? Why 
can you have all that heart can desire, and why must 
I get along with a mere pittance, just enough to 
make me wince under my own indigence ? Look at 
my father and yours; my home and your home. 
Your father is a wealthy and honored lawyer with 
a home like a palace ; mine, as I said before, one of 
squalid discomfort. .My father gave me five dollars 
to get through the school year with, yours probably 
gave you a hundred.” 

Henning began to pity the boy. Laying his hand 
gently on Stockley he said : 

“Hold on. I begin to catch your view, but you 
are getting on too fast. I am going to tell you some- 
thing which I have never breathed to a living soul. 


200 


STOCKLErS STORY 


Do you know how much money I had to spend this 
year ?’' 

‘‘As I said,” replied the other, “about a hundred, 
or perhaps much more.” 

“You are mistaken. I had just twenty-five dollars 
— not one cent more — and you see that^s a very 
small amount for me, because I am supposed — just 
as you suppose now — to have plenty.” 

“Oh! Come off I You gave Smithers nearly ten!” 

“I know it, and it left me fifteen.” 

Jack and Ambrose were never so surprised in their 
lives — and felt like cheering. Stockley remained 
silent. This was a revelation to him. He had sup- 
posed that a rich man’s son, because he was a rich 
man’s son, always had all the money he wanted. He 
was sharp enough to realize Roy’s position during 
the year. 

“My, that must have been hard on you !” 

“It was hard,” replied Roy. 

Another long pause. The injured boy was think- 
ing new thoughts. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


Stockley's Story (Continued) 

“T Ve been thinking,” said Stockley, at length break- 

1 ing the silence. ‘TVe been thinking that if I 
had known last Christmas what you have told 
me now things might have happened very differently. 
I guess I am not the only fellow who has seen hard 
lines here. Yes, things would have been different.” 

“How so ?” asked Henning. 

“It's this way. I told you that it was your gold 
watch that was the cause — or the occasion — of all 
the trouble that came to you. It happened this way. 
For some time before Christmas I envied you, your 
good clothes, this gold watch, and — and your pop- 
ularity. Along by Christmas my father neglected 
me. He sent me no money, which he might easily 
have done had he given me one thought. The more 
nearly broke I was at holiday time the deeper my 
envy. I knew, for I watched you closely, that you 
were collecting a pretty sum for the cage. I saw 
where you kept the money. The idea of securing a 
gold watch for myself took strong hold upon me. It 
did not take long or many attempts to loosen one of 
the outside window bars. Then on the Richelieu 
night when everybody was full of thoughts of the 
play, when the prefects were hurrying the boys to 
bed, I entered through the window and secured the 
money.” 

“And it wasn't — it wasn't — ” Roy choked up. 

“Who ? It wasn't anybody but myself. Smithers 
had no hand in it then.” 

aoi 


202 STOCKLErS STORY (CONTINUED) 


Roy Henning’s heart gave a great bound of relief. 
It was not his cousin, after all. Thank God, thank 
God ! The family honor was saved ! How glad he 
was now of his silence ! Was ever silence so golden ? 
What irretrievable damage a hasty word could have 
done. The thief known, on his own confession, and 
before witnesses. His cousin exonerated! Thank 
God, thank God ! Of course Roy was curious now 
to know all the details and it was with the utmost 
difficulty that he restrained his excitement sufficiently 
to be able to speak in a natural tone. 

‘‘How did you manage to do it ?” 

“Umph I This information which you have been 
seeking for the last five months does not seem to 
affect you much.” 

“With that we can deal later. Now I am curious 
to know how you did it. Please tell me.” 

“As you take the matter so coolly, I will. I laid 
my plans well. I determined, if caught in lifting 
the grating, to be hunting for a ball, which I had 
previously dropped down there. I watched my time. 
I made the entry while the boys were in the chapel 
at night prayers. I settled with myself that if I 
were caught coming out, to bring the money to you 
to prove to you how foolish you were to leave it in 
a common table drawer. In the dark it took only 
a minute to lift the grating. You know that it is 
thick iron with small holes. Three boys did actually 
walk over the grating that night while I was crouch- 
ing beneath it with the money in my pocket.” 

Henning startled both Stockley and his com- 
panions by saying, dramatically : 

“I saw you that night there.” 

“What, you saw me! Oh, I say, that’s a likely 
story — and didn’t say a word all this time !” 

“I can prove it.” 


STOCKLErS STORY (CONTINUED) 203 
“How?” 

“Why did you wear Garrett’s blue sweater?” 

“Guess you did see me then, for I wore it. I 
wanted a disguise. If any one saw me near that 
window with Garrett’s sweater on they would take 
me for him, provided I hid my face well — which I 
did. No one would suspect Garrett of thieving.” 

Again Henning was thankful that he had kept his 
resolution of silence. It was not for Garrett’s sake 
he had made it. Why it was made, and kept in the 
face of such suspicious circumstances, the reader will 
learn ere long. 

‘‘Did you purchase the gold watch you wanted 
with your — your ill-gotten gains ?” 

“I did not. I was afraid to do so. I saw at once 
if I did I should compromise myself. I saw that 
I should have to tell where I got the money for such 
a purpose. Everybody, and especially the faculty, 
knew that I did not have overmuch pocket-money. 
My commonsense, after all, told me I could not use 
the money here. So I made myself a felon for 
nothing. What is left — most of it — is now with 
the President.” 

Stockley paused a minute, and then continued : 

“Don’t think this is an easy task for me, boys. I 
promised the chaplain to straighten things out, and 
as you had to have the essentials, you might as well 
have the details also. I shall never face the boys 
again, for as soon as I can be moved I am to be sent 
home. Anyway, Henning, I like the way you 
received the story.” 

“I am very thankful to you that you make it so 
clear and circumstantial.” 

“You remember in the early spring there was a 
good deal of money spent by the boys. If I remem- 
ber rightly you yourself bought a number of books. 


204 STOCKLErS STORY (CONTINUED) 

bats, balls, and shoes. Well, at that time I ventured 
to spend some, but I was horribly suspicious all the 
time. Somehow I imagined that every dollar I spent 
was marked in some invisible way and would be 
traced back to me. No, I tell you that has done me 
no good, given me not one moment of satisfaction, 
and has only added an extra burden to my con- 
science.” 

‘'Did Smithers have a hand in this thievery?” 
asked Roy. 

“Leave others out. You said that to me just now, 
and now you are trying to get some one else incrim- 
inated.” 

“No, I am not. I am merely acting in self-defense. 
You have cleared me of all suspicion. I must, if he 
was implicated in this wretched affair, have him 
clear me also.” 

“You need not bother about Smithers,” said 
Bracebridge; “that charming and courageous in- 
dividual departed for unknown pastures between two 
suns. You will see him no more. The boys say he 
is daffy on account of the storm. Let it go at that, 
Roy.” 

Henning was surprised at this news, but not alto- 
gether pleased. Matters had thus far gone so 
propitiously that he wanted every knot in the tangle 
straightened out 

“That’s all right, Roy,” said Bracebridge. “There 
will be no more trouble from that quarter.” He then 
turned to Stockley, saying : 

“I must say that we are obliged to you for your 
candor. It is rather a manly acknowledgment after 
all.” 

“You see, I went to confession last night, 
and ” 

“I understand. You are properly trying to undo 


STOCKLEY’S STORY (CONTINUED) 205 

the wrong you have done. You will never be able 
to undo the mental torture you have inflicted on 
Henning all these months.’' 

“I never shall. I am sorry for all that now, and 
I ask your pardon, Henning.” 

The three boys were discovering that there was 
something manly in Stockley after all. 

“That’s all right,” said Roy heartily. “It’s all 
over now. Try and keep straight for the future.” 

“Now,” said Bracebridge, “there is only one thing 
more to be done. Of course you will sign a paper 
exonerating Henning from all possible implication, 
now you have acknowledged your own guilt. Our 
word as witnesses would be sufficient, but it would 
come with better grace from you, don’t you think 
so?” 

“There’s not much gracefulness in the whole 
wretched business. I’m thinking, but I’ll sign.” 

That afternoon, with the permission of the prefect, 
there was posted on the bulletin board a notice which 
created more intense excitement than anything since 
the loss of the money during the Christmas holidays. 
It ran as follows : 

“This is to certify that I, of my own free will 
and without coercion, admit that I stole the 
seventy-two dollars last Christmas week, and 
that no one now at the college had the least 
thing to do with planning or carrying out the 
theft except myself. 


“John Stockley.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

The Unraveled Tangle 

U NPLEASANT as the interview had been to Roy, 
he no sooner left the sickroom than he found 
his spirits rise with a great bound. At last! 
At last he was cleared I Now the way was smoothed 
for him. All aspersions on his character would be 
scattered like the morning mist before the sun, as 
soon as the contents of the precious paper were made 
known. 

The three boys left the infirmary at about half 
an hour after eleven o’clock. In a quarter of an 
hour classes would be dismissed for the day, it being 
a customary half-holiday. 

Jack Beecham was eager to post the notice on the 
bulletin board at once. They took the wiser and 
safer course. They decided to see the prefect first, 
as nothing appeared on the board without his sanc- 
tion, and when it did it was regarded as official. 

‘Uome in,” they heard him call in response to their 
rap at the door. 

‘'Great news, Mr. Shalford 1” shouted Jack 
Beecham before he entered the room. “Everything’s 
settled. Roy’s all right now. The head of the clique 
has done it this time — in black and white, too ; see, 
sir.” 

Mr. Shalford arose, smiling, and extended his 
hand to Henning. 

“I am very glad. It has been an ugly business. It 
has caused no end of anxiety. The rumors and 
charges were always so intangible that I never could 
trace one to its source. But let me see the paper.” 
206 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


207 

This boys’ true friend gave a low whistle as he 
read Stockley’s acknowledgment. 

“So you are cleared, Henning; and the thief is 
known? That’s capital. Poor boy! Isn’t it too 
bad, boys, to find a student — one of us — a thief, a 
burglar, a felon ! Oh, the pity of it ! Well, pray for 
him, boys, pray for him. Leave this note with rtie, 
Henning. I’ll see that it does its work. Congratu- 
lations, all of you. Whatever you have, Roy, you 
have some loyal friends. Congratulations, congratu- 
lations, all of you I” 

The note was immediately posted. Then the ex- 
citement began, at first among half-a-dozen around 
the board, then among other groups, and in a very 
short time throughout the college. George McLeod 
and Ernest Winters simply went wild, and in less 
than an hour they could scarcely speak at all, so 
hoarse were they from shouting. 

Where was Henning? A rush was made to the 
Philosophy classroom. He was not there. Perhaps 
he was with the rector or the prefect of studies. Both 
these places were invaded by excited boys, but Roy 
was not forthcoming. 

Just as the big bell rang for dinner, George 
McLeod made a rush for the chapel, sure that he 
would find his friend there. And there he did find 
the three. Jack, Ambrose, and Roy, pouring out their 
thanksgiving with grateful hearts for the happy turn 
events had taken. 

“Come, Roy ; it’s dinner. The big bell has rung ; 
come on.” 

Roy did not move, nor did his companions. He 
evidently intended to avoid the crowd, waiting until 
they should all be at dinner, knowing that in the 
refectory they would have to remain quiet. 

This time he miscalculated entirely. No sooner 


208 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


did he make his appearance than the whole of the 
students of the senior refectory rose to their feet and 
gave three hearty cheers for Roy Henning. The 
prefect made no attempt to stop the demonstration, 
while Ernest Winters, out in the middle of the room, 
was fairly dancing with joy and excitement. 

At a given signal from Mr. Shalford all cheering 
ceased. Every one resumed his seat — except 
Ernest, who danced on in his glee, to the intense 
amusement of all, and to his own utter confusion 
when he discovered that he was the only boy now 
making any noise in the refectory. 

Before the laugh at his expense had subsided the 
prefect whispered to Roy : 

“Shall I give talking at table in honor of the 
event ?” 

“To-morrow, please, sir,” replied Roy, “now I 
want to think a little.” 

Mr. Shalford gave a look and a nod to the reader, 
and the meal, save for the reader’s voice, was finished 
in silence. 

If the boys were not allowed to talk for a little 
while, there was no lack of signs and signals. Harry 
Gill was frantic to signal across the room his con- 
gratulations, and had a fit of coughing for trying to 
eat his dinner and at the same time send a series of 
telegraphic messages to Roy. 

Henning was pleased to see that Andrew Garrett 
was quite demonstrative of good will. Andrew, for 
a long time tried to catch his cousin’s eye. When 
he did so, he dropped his knife and fork and imitated 
a handshaking. Roy did the same to his cousin, and 
was repaid by seeing a look of intense pleasure 
spread over Andrew’s face. 

Of course all these signs and signals and other 
unusual occurrences were breaches of discipline 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


209 


which, at any other time would not have gone un- 
checked and unpunished. But Mr. Shalford knew 
exactly ‘^how it was.” He had been a real boy him- 
self once, and knew exactly when not to see too 
much. He believed in the scriptural motto, ‘‘Be not 
over just.” 

And after dinner ! What a scene the yard 
presented for a few minutes! The delighted boys 
shook Roy’s hand until his arm fairly ached. His 
arm ached because he allowed it to be shaken by 
others, instead of himself shaking every hand ex- 
tended. In this business he was unexperienced. 

In the midst of the enthusiasm, which resembled 
that which follows an important and successful base- 
ball game, only more intense, Harry Gill jumped 
upon a long bench by the wall and shouted : 

“Listen, gentlemen. I have good news for you. 
Hi, there! listen. Listen there, boys, listen, listen! 
Roy Henning has promised to pitch for the rest of 
the year ! Did — you — hear that — boys ?” 

Roy suddenly remembered that he had intended to 
give Gill the credit for this. He jumped on the 
bench in a second. Raising his hand, the hero of 
the hour obtained silence in a much shorter time than 
Gill had done. 

“If I pitch for the rest of the year,” he said, “it 
is all Gill’s fault. I simply could not resist his im- 
portunities. Oh, he’s a sly one!” 

“It isn’t,” said Gill laughing. 

“It is.” 

“It is not.” 

“It is.” 

Then there was a cheer which could be heard 
down at Cuthberton. 

After a time Roy, Jack, Ambrose, and Rob Jones 
extricated themselves from the throng of happy boys. 


210 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


and with Gill and Andrew Garrett repaired to the 
Philosophy classroom, or Hilson's parlor, as it was 
called, which the other members of the class con- 
siderately left at their disposal for the time being. 

‘^Oh, what a day we’re having!” sighed Jack 
Beecham as he sank into a chair. 

‘‘Glorious, isn’t it ?” said the jubilant Bracebridge. 

“And now that we are alone,” began Andrew Gar- 
rett, “that is, among special friends, I want to say 
something.” 

All were silent in an instant. Gill, who did not 
appear to have realized the previous strained rela- 
tions between the two cousins began to say some- 
thing funny, but he was checked by an unmistakably 
significant glance from Ambrose, who had become 
quite serious, for he rather expected a scene, if not 
an explosion. Shealey, who had come in, was too 
full of fun and nonsense to imagine that anybody 
just now could be serious, but when he saw the 
nervous look on Ambrose’s face, and the evident 
nervousness of Garrett, he, too, realized that it was 
time to suspend bantering. 

All the friends were standing in a group around 
Henning, laughing and chattering as only boys 
thoroughly happy can laugh and chatter, when Gar- 
rett began to speak. At the sound of his voice, they 
all, with Roy in the center, turned and faced Garrett 
as he stood two or three feet away. 

“I want to say something,” Garrett began again, 
“and I think it only fair, Roy, to say it before these 
others, as well as to you.” 

Henning bowed slightly, having only a faint idea 
of what was coming. At present he was too pleased 
to know that Garrett was not implicated and that the 
family name was untarnished. 

“I want to say that I consider myself to have been 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


211 


a pretty mean and small sort of a fellow in this 
whole business.’’ 

“Oh ! Don’t ” began Roy in protest. 

“Wait a minute, Roy. This is the task I have set 
myself, for it seems to me the only possible way in 
which I can make reparation. I want to say that I 
had a good deal to do with those rumors. I got in, 
somehow, with a crowd of boys I ought to have been 
ashamed to associate with. How it all happened I 
don’t exactly know. Things went from bad to worse 
with me, and pretty far, too. It seems a dream to 
me now. About a week ago suddenly I began to 
realize my position. How this realization came about 
I don’t know. It must have been dear little Ethel’s 
prayers for me, but I began to think of my position, 
think of what I was doing, and, yes, to think of the 
sin of it all. You were away, Roy, and when I re- 
membered your trouble and grief at home, and when, 
finally, your brotherly telegram came, I began to be 
thoroughly ashamed of myself. So now all I can 
do is to ask your pardon, and the pardon of all these, 
your loyal and staunch friends.” 

As he listened to this manly avowal, there arose in 
Roy Henning’s breast an admiration for his cousin’s 
moral courage. The other auditors were deeply im- 
pressed. They waited with curiosity to see what 
Roy would do. And he? He did precisely what 
might be expected of him. Without saying a word, 
he stepped forward, took Garrett’s hand and shook 
it warmly. Then : 

“It’s all over, old man. Let bygones be bygones. 
I forgive everything and forget.” 

“Thanks, very much. I do not deserve this, but 
you shall see I shall deserve it.” 

There was a world of pathos and earnestness in 
Andrew’s voice at that moment. 


212 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


The rest of the gathering of friends extended their 
hands, and Andrew shook hands all around. 

‘'Now,'' said Roy, “will you permit me to ask a 
few questions, to clear up some obscure points in 
my mind ?" 

“Certainly ; anything," said Andrew, with alacrity. 

“How did that wretched Stockley come to wear 
your blue sweater ? He tells me he did, and, besides, 
I saw him get down below that grating that night 
and I thought it was you." 

“Thought it was me!" said Garrett in the greatest 
amazement. “You thought it was I, and all this 
time you thought I was the thief, and yet stood all 
I said against you, and never said a word! Oh, 
Roy! No wonder on that Sunday afternoon you in- 
sisted on my clearing you !" 

Andrew Garrett appeared to be fairly overcome by 
his cousin's generosity. 

“Why, oh, why didn't I know all this before? 
How differently I would have acted. Believe me, it 
is only this very day I learned that the thief wore my 
sweater that night. Before going to bed on the night 
of the play I hung my sweater on a peg in the study- 
hall. The next morning I saw that it had been used 
by some one, for there were dirt stains on it and 
some rust marks from contact with rusty iron. I 
determined not to wear it after that. I had no idea 
the thief had used it, though." 

“Thanks," said Roy. “Now one more question, 
Andrew." 

“Fire away.” 

“This morning Stockley said something about a 
letter which you knew something of — one in some 
way connected with me. Can you tell me anything 
about it?” 

Now it so happened that the affair of the letter 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


213 


was the only incident in the untoward conduct of 
Garrett for many months past in which he could take 
any kind of satisfaction. It will be remembered that 
he had refused to allow Stockley and Smithers to 
circulate it among the boys. He had retained it 
ever since. 

‘‘That's easy enough," he answered, as he drew 
the crumpled letter from his pocket. 

“But I have to ask you a question now, for the 
wording of the letter certainly looks compromising 
enough. Listen to this, gentlemen." Andrew read 
the scrap of paper to the astonished listeners. 

“Dec. 23rd. My dear chum: Your letter 
received last Monday. Sorry to say that" — 
“here's a blank," said Garrett, and then continued, 
“have no money just now, so can not do the thing 
you wish. Awfully sorry. Feel like stealing the 
money rather than letting this thing go undone. 
However, wait till the end of Christmas week. 
Something's going to turn up before that — then 
we can go into partnership in this, at least for the 
merit — keep everything dark. Don't say a word 
to anybody about it. Mind, now, chum, every- 
thing must be kept secret or — smash! Yours, 
Roy H." 

When Garrett began to read the note, Henning 
looked puzzled. After a time he seemed to remem- 
ber all about it, and then he — blushed. 

“Oh! that's " but he stopped suddenly. He 

was going to make a revelation of some kind, and 
suddenly thought better of it. He blushed profusely 
— like a girl. He was awkward. For a moment 
he appeared embarrassed in no slight degree. Twice 
he was going to say something; twice he changed 
his mind. 

His friends were very much puzzled. Was there 


214 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


a shade of truth in some of the charges made against 
Roy after all ? Had their idol fallen ? Was he, after 
all, not to be their hero? Was he a lesser character 
than all along they had judged him? 

Roy saw these fleeting fancies on their wavering 
faces, all except Ambrose’s. He never doubted, nor 
did he show the least sign of wavering. Roy saw 
wonder and incipient doubt elsewhere, at which he 
blushed the more furiously. 

The situation was certainly dramatic. A climax 
had come to-day. Was there, after all, to be an 
anticlimax? Was the idol to be shattered at the 
very last moment ? 

‘‘What does it all mean, Roy?” asked Garrett. 

“I would rather not say,” was the reply. 

“You had better, Roy,” said Bracebridge, in con- 
fidential tones. 

Still blushing, Roy said : 

“I say, you fellows, you don’t mean to say there 
is anything crooked in this, do you?” 

“No,” replied Andrew Garrett, “but an enemy of 
yours could make mighty good capital out of it all 
the same. Tell us what it means, Roy.” 

“If you must know, then, it’s merely this,” an- 
swered Roy, a little angrily, not exactly with his 
friends, but more at the exigencies of the situation. 
“There is a poor — quite poor — student in a semi- 
nary who is and has been a great friend of mine, in 
fact pretty much of a hero, as you would say if you 
knew his story. He had the greatest longing to get 
home last Christmas to see his widowed mother after 
years of absence. He could not afford it, and, like 
a real friend, asked me to assist him. Unfortunately 
my funds were very low — too low to help him. I 
expected that my mother would send me her usual 
Christmas present. I found out that she was willing 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


215 


to do so, and I wrote to her to send most of it to 
my friend instead. There’s your great mystery! I 
was short of funds because my father cut down my 
allowance this year.” 

“So that’s the reason you were so close this year ?” 
asked Andrew. 

“What?” 

“Because your father cut down, and yet, by Jove ! 
you were willing to send what you did get to some 
one else. Well, I call that noble, indeed I do. Oh, 
I wish I had known all this before! If I had but 
known! If I had ” 

“Say, you fellows, haven’t you done catechising 
me?” said Roy Henning, attempting to divert their 
attention from himself. 

“If you please, cousin, one more question,” said 
Andrew. 

Roy made a wry face, and a mock gesture of im- 
patience. 

“You would try the patience of a saint!” 

“Mav I?” 

“Well, fire ahead.” 

“You say that all along you thought I was the 
thief?” 

”1 certainly did, Andrew,” answered Roy, serious 
in a minute, “for no one but you here ever wore a 
blue sweater.” 

“Then why did you not, especially as I had acted 
so meanly toward you — why did you not do or say 
something that would point suspicion to me, or 
openly make the charge ?” 

The question aroused considerable emotion in 
Roy’s breast. It showed itself in the workings of 
the muscles of his cheeks. Taking Andrew Garrett 
by the hand, he looked into his eyes. 

“ShaU I tell you, Andrew?” 


2i6 


THE UNRAVELED TANGLE 


‘‘Yes, please do.” 

“If I spoke or moved in this I knew it would break 
your mother’s heart.” 

Andrew could stand no more. He broke down. 
Boy as he was, with all a boy’s natural distaste for 
displaying emotion before others, he was not 
ashamed to rest his head for a moment on his 
cousin’s shoulder and sob. The only words that fell 
from his lips were : 

“Noble Roy!” 


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JUVENILE BOOKS 

20 Copyrighted Stories for the Young, by the Best Authors 
Special net price, $10.00 

You get the books at once, and have the use of them, while making easy 

payments 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page 

Juvenile Library A 

TOM PLAYFAIR; OR, MAKING A START. By Rev. F. J. Finn, S.J. 
“The best boy’s book that ever came from the press.” 

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK. By Rev. H. S. Spalding, S.J. “This 
is a story full of go and adventure.” 

HARRY RUSSELL, A ROCKLAND COLLEGE BOY. By Rev. J. E. Copus, 
S.J. “Father Copus takes the college hero where Father Finn has left 
him, through the years to graduation.” 

CHARLIE CHITTYWICK. By Rev. David Bearne,^ S.J. Father Bearne 
shows a wonderful knowledge and fine appreciation of boy character. 
There is no mark of mawkishness in the book. 

NAN NOBODY. By Mary T. Waggaman. “Keeps one fascinated till the 
last page is reached.” 

LOYAL BLUE AND ROYAL SCARLET. By Marion A. Taggart. “Will 
help keep awake the strain of hero worship and ideal patriotism.” 

THE GOLDEN LILY. By Katharine T. Hinkson. “Another proof of the 
author’s wonderful genius.” 

THE MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. By Anna T. Sadlier. “A bright, spark- 
ling book.” 

OLD CHARLMONT’S SEED-BED. By Sara T. Smith. “A delightful story 
of Southern school life.” 

THE MADCAP SET AT ST. ANNE’S. By Marion J. Brunowe. “Plenty 
of fun and frolic, with high moral principle.” ’ 

BUNT AND BILL. By Clara Mulholland. “There are passages of true 
pathos and humor in this pretty tale.” 

THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. By Maurice F. Egan. “They are by no 
means faultless young people and their hearts lie in the right places.” 

PICKLE AND PEPPER. By Ella L. Dorsey. “This story is clever and 
witty — there is not a dull page.” 

A HOSTAGE OF WAR. By Mary G. Bonesteel. “A wide-awake story, 
brimful of incident and easy humor.” 

AN EVERY DAY GIRL. By Mary T. Crowley. “One of the few tales that 
will appeal to the heart of every girl.” 

AS TRUE AS GOLD. By Mary E. Mannix. “This book will make a name 
for itself.” 

AN HEIR OF DREAMS. By S. M. O’Malley. “The book is destined to 
become a true friend of our boys.” 

THE MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL. By Anna T. Sadlier. Sure to stir 
the blood of every real boy and to delight with its finer touches the heart 
of every true girl.” 

TWO LITTLE GIRLS. By Lillian Mack. “A real tale of real children.” 

RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. By Rev. David Bearne, S.J. “His sym- 
pathy with boyhood is so evident and his understanding so perfect.” 


ft 


2 0 Copyrighted Stories for the Young 

By the Best Catholic Writers 

ISIBJX F*rioe), ^10.00 

$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on preceding pages 

Juvenile Library B 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEARANCE. By Rev. F. J. Finn, S.J. Pro- 
fusely illustrated. “A delightful story by Father Finn, which will be 
popular with the girls as well as with the boys.” 

THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK. By Rev. H. S. Spalding, S.J. 
“From the outset the reader’s attention is captivated and never lags.” 

SAINT CUTHBERT’S. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. “A truly inspiring tale, 
full of excitement.” 

THE TAMING OF POLLY. By Ella Loraine Dorsey. “Polly with her 
cool head, her pure heart and stern Western sense of justice.” 

STRONG-ARM OF AVALON. By Mary T. Waggaman. “Takes hold of the 
interest and of the heart and never lets go.” 

JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILE. By C. May. “Courage, truth, honest 
dealing with friend and foe.” 

A KLONDIKE PICNIC. By Eleanor C. Donnelly, “Alive with the charm 
that belongs to childhood.” 

A COLLEGE BOY. By Anthony Yorke. “Healthy, full of life, full of 
incident.” 

THE GREAT CAPTAIN. By Katharine T. Hinkson. “Makes the most 
interesting and delightful reading.” 

THE YOUNG COLOR GUARD. By Mary G. Bonesteel. “The attractive- 
ness of the tale is enhanced by the realness that pervades it.” 

THE HALDEMAN CHILDREN. By Mary E. Mannix. “Full of people 
entertaining, refined, and witty.” 

PAULINE ARCHER. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Sure to captivate the hearts 
of all juvenile readers.” 

THE ARMORER OF SOLINGEN. By W. Herchenbach. “Cannot fail to 
inspire honest ambition.” 

THE INUNDATION. By Canon Schmid. “Sure to please the young 
readers for whom it is intended.” 

THE BLISSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE. By Marion A. Taggart. “Pleasing 
and captivating to young people.” 

DIMPLING’S SUCCESS. By Clara Mulholland. “Vivacious and natural 
and cannot fail to be a favorite.” 

BISTOURI- By A. Melandri. “How Bistouri traces out the plotters and 
foils them makes interesting reading.” 

FRED’S LITTLE DAUGHTER. By Sara T. Smith. “The heroine wins her 
way into the heart of every one.” 

THE SEA-GULL’S ROCK. By J. Sandeau. “The intrepidity of th« little 
hero will appeal to every boy.” 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. First Series. A collection of twenty stories 
by the foremost writers, with many full-page illustrations. 


8 


2 0 Copyrighted Stories for the Young 

By the Best Catholic Writers 
SF>E>oiA.ii. Nkt:' Priced, ^10.00 
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Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on preceding pages 


Juvenile Library C 

PERCY WYNN; OR, MAKING A BOY OF HIM. By Rev. F. J. Finn, S.J. 
“The most successful Catholic juvenile published.” 

THE RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. By Rev. H. S. Spalding, S.J. 
“Father Spalding’s descriptions equal those 'of Cooper.” 

SHADOWS LIFTED. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. “We know of no books 
more delightful and interesting.” 

HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY, AND OTHER STORIES. By 
Maurice F. Egan. “A choice collection of stories by one of the most 
popular writers.” 

WINNETOU, THE APACHE KNIGHT. By C. May. “Chapters of breath- 
less interest.” 

MILLY AVELING. By Sara Trainer Smith. “The best story Sara Trainer 
, Smith has ever written.” 

THE TRANSPLANTING OF TESSIE. By Mary T. Waggaman. “An ex- 
cellent girl’s story.” 

THE PLAYWATER PLOT. By Mary T. Waggaman. “How the plotters 
are captured and the boy rescued makes a very interesting story.” 

AN ADVENTURE WITH THE APACHES. By Gabriel Ferry. 

PANCHO AND PANCHITA. By Mary E. Mannix. “Full of color and 
warmth of life in old Mexico.” 

RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS. By Mary G. Bonesteel. “Many a boyish 
heart will beat in envious admiration of little Tommy.” 

BY BRANSCOME RIVER. By Marion A. Taggart. “A creditable book in 
every way.” 

THE QUEEN’S PAGE. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. “Will arouse the 
young to interest in historical matters and is a good story well told.” 

MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Sprightly, interesting 
and well written.” 

BOB-O’LINK. By Mary T. Waggaman. “Every boy and girl will be de- 
lighted with Bob-o’Link.” 

THREE GIRLS AND ESPECIALLY ONE. By Marion A. Taggart. “There 
is an exquisite charm in the telling.” 

WRONGFULLY ACCUSED. By W. Herchenbach. “A simple tale, enter- 
tainingly told.” 

THE CANARY BIRD. By Canon Schmid. “The story is a fine one and 
will be enjoyed by boys and girls.” 

FIVE O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. J. “The children who are blessed 
with such stories have much to be thankful for.” 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Second Series. A collection of twenty stories 
by the foremost writers, with many full-page illustrations. 


4 


20 Copyrighted Stories for the Young 

By the Best Catholic Writers 

Nhjtp Priced, ^10*00 

$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on preceding pages 


Juvenile Library D 

THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. By Rev. David Bearne, SJ. “Here is a 
story for boys that bids fair to equal any of Father Finn’s successes.” 

THE MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. By George Barton. There is a peculiar 
charm about this no-\^el that the discriminating reader will ascribe to the 
author’s own personality. 

HARMONY FLATS. By C. S. Whitmore. The characters in this story are 
all drawn true to life, and the incidents are exciting. 

WAYWARD WINIFRED. By Anna T. Sadlier. A story for girls. Its 
youthful readers will enjoy the vivid description, lively conversations, and 
plenty of striking incidents, all winding up happily. 

'ffOM LOSELY: BOY. By Rev. J. E. Copus, S.J. Illustrated. The writer 
knows boys and boy nature, and small-boy nature too. 

fiHORE FIVE, O’CLOCK STORIES. By S. H. C. T. “The children who are 
blessed with such stories have much to be thankful for.” 

^ACK O’LANTERN. By Mary T. Waggaman. This book is alive with in- 
terest. It is full of life and incident. 

THE BERKLEYS. By Emma Howard Wight. A truly inspiring tale, full 
of excitement. There is not a dull page. 

LITTLE MISSY. By Mary T. Waggaman. A charming story for children 
which will be enjoyed by older folk as well. 

TOM’S LUCK-POT. By Mary T. Waggaman. Full of fun and charming 
incidents — a book that every boy should read. 

CHILDREN OF CUPA. By Mary E. Mannix. One of the most thoroughly 
unique and charming books that has found its way to the reviewing desk 
in many a day. 

FOR THE WHITE ROSE. By Katharine T. Hinkson. This book is some- 
thing more than a story; but, as a mere story, it is admirably well written. 

THE DOLLAR HUNT. From the French by E. G. Martin. Those who wish 
to get a fascinating tale should read this story. 

THE VIOLIN MAKER. From the original of Otto v. Schaching, by Sara 
Trainer Smith. There is much truth in this simple little story. 

“JACK.” By S. H. C. J. As loving and lovable a little fellow as there is in 
the world is “Jack,’*^ the ^‘pickle,” the “ragamuffin,” the defender of per- 
secuted kittens and personal principles. 

A SUMMER AT WOODVILLE. By Anna T. Sadlier. This is a beautiful 
book, in full sympathy with and delicately expressive of the author’s 
creations. 

DADDY DAN. By Mary T. Waggaman. This is a rattling good story for 
boys. 

THE BELL FOUNDRY. By Otto v. Schaching. So interesting that the 
reader will find difficulty in tearing himself away. 

TOORALLADDY. By Julia C. Walsh. An exciting story of the varied 
fortunes of an orphan boy from abject poverty in a dismal cellar to success. 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Third Series. A collection of twenty stories 
by the foremost writers. 


Catholic Circulating Library Mont 

NOVELS 

IS CopyTiKl^ted Novel® by tbe Best A.uttioV9 

Sbkoia.iv Prick, $12.00 

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Library of Novels No. I 

THE RULER OF THE KINGDOM. By Grace Keon. “Will charm any 
' reader."’ 

KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS. By J. Harrison. “A real, true life 
history, the kind one could live through and never read it for romance.” 

IN THE DAYS OF KING HAL. By Marion A. Taggart. Illustrated. “A 
tale of the time of Henry V. of England, full of adventure and excite- 
ment.” 

HEARTS OF GOLD. By I. Edhor. “It is a tale that will leave its reader 
the better for knowing its heroine, her tenderness and her heart of gold.” 

THE HEIRESS OF CRONENSTEIN. By Countess Hahn-Hahn. “An ex. 
quisite story of life and love, told in touchingly simple words.” 

THE PILKINGTON HEIR. By Anna T. Sadlier. “Skill and strength are 
shown in this story. The plot is well constructed and the characters 
vividly differentiated.” 

THE OTHER MISS LISLE. A Catholic novel of South African life. By 
M. C. Martin. A powerful story by a writer of distinct ability. 

IDOLS; OR, THE SECRET OF THE RUE CHAUSSEE D’ANTIN. By 
Raoul de Navery. “The story is a remarkably clever one; it is well con- 
structed and evinces a master hand.” 

THE SOGGARTH AROON. By Rev. Joseph Guinan, C.C. A capital Irish 
story. 

THE VOCATION OF EDWARD CONWAY. By Maurice F. Egan. “This 
is a novel of modern American life. The scene is laid in a pleasant colony 
of cultivated people on the banks of the Hudson, not far from West Point.” 

A WOMAN OF FORTUNE. By Christian Reid. “That great American 
Catholic novel for which so much inquiry is made, a story true in its 
picture of Americans at home and abroad.” 

PASSING SHADOWS. By Anthony Yorke. “A thoroughly charming 
story. It sparkles from first to last with interesting situations and 
dialogues that are full of sentiment. There is not a slow page.” 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

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Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first pag8< 


Library of Novels No. II 

THE SENIOR LIEUTENANT’S WAGER, and Other Stories. 30 stories by 
30 of the foremost Catholic writers. 

A DAUGHTER OF KINGS. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. “The book is 
most enjoyable.” 

THE WAY THAT LED BEYOND. By J. Harrison. “The story does not 
drag, the plot is well worked out, and the interest endures to the very 
last page.” 

CORINNE’S VOW. By Mary T. Waggaman. With 16 full-page illustrations. 
“There is genuine artistic merit in its plot and life-story. It is full of 
vitality and action.” 

THE FATAL BEACON. By F. v. Brackel. “The story is told well and 
clearly, and has a certain charm that will be found interesting. The prin- 
cipal characters are simple, good-hearted people, and the heroine’s high 
sense of courage impresses itself upon the reader as the tale proceeds.” 

THE MONK’S PARDON: An Historical Romance of the Time of Philip IV. 
of Spain. By Raoul de Navery. “A story full of stirring incidents and 
written in a lively, attractive style.” 

PERE MONNIER’S WARD. By Walter Lecky. “The characters are life- 
like and there is a pathos in the checkered life of the heroine. Pere 
Monnier is a memory that will linger.” 

TRUE STORY OF MASTER GERARD. By Anna T. Sadlier. “One of the 
most thoroughly original and delightful romances ever evolved from the 
pen of a Catholic writer.” 

THE UNRAVELING OF A TANGLE. By Marion A. Taggart. With four 
full-page illustrations. “This story tells of the adventures of a young 
American girl, who, in order to get possession of a fortune left her by an 
uncle, whom she had never seen, goes to France.” 

THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. By Henry M. Ross. “A well-told story of 
American life, the scene laid in Boston, New York and California. It is 
very interesting.” 

FABIOLA’S SISTER. (A companion volume to Cardinal Wiseman’s “Fa- 
biola.”) Adapted by A. C. Clarke. “A book to read— a worthy sequel 
to that masterpiece, ‘Fabiola.’ ” 

THE OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE: A Novel. By A. dk Lamothe. **A capita! 
novel with plenty of go in it.” 


7 


12 Copyrighted Novels by the Best Authors 

Sf»bjoia.i^ Nrt Prick, $12.00 

$1.00 down, $1.00 a month 

Read explanation of our Circulating Library plan on first page. 


Library of Novels No. Ill 

•‘NOT A JUDGMENT.” By Grace Keon. ‘‘Beyond doubt the best Catholic 
novel of the year.” 

fHE RED INN OF ST. LYPHAR. By Anna T. Sadlier. ‘‘A story of 
stirring times in France, when the sturdy Vendeans rose in defence of 
country and religion.” 

HSR FATHER’S DAUGHTER. By Katharine Tynan Hinkson. ‘‘So 
dramatic and so intensely interesting that the reader will find it difficult 
to tear himself away from the story.” 

PUT OF BONDAGE. By M. Holt. ‘‘Once his book becomes known it will 
be read by a great many.” 

MARCELLA GRACE. By Rosa Mulholland. Mr. Gladstone called this 
novel a masterpiece. 

THE CIRCUS-RIDER’S DAUGHTER. By F. v. Brackel. This work has 
achieved a remarkable success for a Catholic novel, for in less than a year 
three editions were printed. 

CARROLL DARE. By Marjt T. Waggaman. Illustrated. ‘‘A thrilling story, 
with the dash of horses and the clash of swords on every side.” 

DION AND THE SIBYLS. By Miles Keon. ‘‘Dion is as brilliantly, as 
accurately and as elegantly classical, as scholarly in style and diction, as 
fascinating in plot and as vivid in action as Ben Hur.” 

HER BLIND FOLLY. By H. M. Ross. A clever story with an interesting 
and well-managed plot and maioy striking situations. 

MISS ERIN. By M. E. Francis. *‘A captivating tale of Irish life, redolent 
of genuine Celtic wit, love and pathos.” 

MR. BILLY BUTTONS. By Walter Lecky. ‘‘The figures who move in 
rugged grandeur through these pages are as fresh and unspoiled in their 
way as the good folk of Drumtochty.” 

CONNOR D’ARCY’S STRUGGLES. By Mrs. W. M. Bertholds. ‘‘A story 
of which the spirit is so fine and the Catholic characters so nobly con 
ceived.” 


8 


Continiiation Library 


YOU SUBSCRIBE FOR FOUR NEW 
NOVELS A YEAR, TO BE MAILED TO 
YOU AS PUBLISHED, AND RECEIVE 
BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE FREE. 


Each year we publish four new novels by the best Cath- 
olic authors. These novels are interesting beyond the 
ordinary — not religious, but Catholic in tone and feeling. 
They are issued in the best modem style. 

We ask you to give us a standing order for these novels. 
The price is $1.25, which will be charged as each volume is 
issued, and the volume sent postage paid. 

As a special inducement for giving us a standing order 
for the novels, we shall include free a subscription to 
Bensige/s Magazine. Benzige/s Magazine is recognized 
as the best and handsomest Catholic periodical published, 
and we are sure will be welcomed in every library. The 
regular price of the Magazine is $2.00 a year. 

Thus for $5.00 a year-paid $1.25 at a time — ^you will get 
four good books and receive in addition a year's subscription 
to Benziger's Magazine. The Magazine will be continued 
from year to year, as long as the standing order for the 
novels is in force, which will be till countermanded. 


8 


KAMOUS 


ROUND TABLE SERIES 


4 VOIvXJMKS, $6.00 

CO OKNTS DOWN; 60 OKNTTS A. NIONTTH 

On payment of 50 cents you get the books and a free subscription to 

Benziger’s Magazine 

The Greatest Stories by the foremost Catholic Writers in the World 

With Portraits of the Authors, Sketches of their Lives, and a List of 
their Works. Four exquisite volumes, containing the masterpieces of 36 of the 
foremost writers of America, Engiand, Ireland, Germany, and France. Each 
story complete. Open any volume at random and you will find a great story 
to entertain you. 

SPECIAL OPKER 

In order to place this fine collection of stories in every home, we make 
the following special offer: Send us 60 cents and the four fine volumes will be 
sent to you immediately. Then you pay 60 cents each month until $6.00 has 
been paid. 


I^IBRARY OK 

SHORT STOR I KS 


BY A BRILLIANT ARRAY OF CATHOLIC AUTHORS 
Original Stories by 33 writers 

Four Handsome Volumes and Benziger’s Magazine for a Year at the 

Special Price of $5.00 

50 CENTS DOWN; 50 CENTS A MONTH 

You get the books at once, and have the use of them while making easy 
payments. Send us only 60 cents, and we will forward the books at once; 
60 cents entitles you to immediate possession. No further payment need be 
made for a month; afterwards you pay 60 cents a month. 


Anna T. Sadlier 
Mary E. Mannix 
Mary T. Waggaman 
Jerome Harte 
Mary G. Bonesteel 
Magdalen Rock 
Eugenie Uhlrich 
Alice Richardson 
Katharine Jenkins 
Mary Boyle O’Reilly 
Clara MulhoHand 


STORIKS BY 

Grace Keon 
Louisa Emily Dobr^e 
Theo. Gift 
Margaret E. Jordan 
Agnes M. Rowe 
Julia C. Walsh 
Madge Mannix 
Leigh Gordon Giltner 
Eleanor C. Donnelly 
Teresa Stanton 
H. J. Carroll 


Rev. T. J. Livingstone, S.J. 
Marion Ames Taggart 
Maurice Francis Egan 
Mary F. Nixon-Roulet 
Mrs. Francis Chadwick 
Catherine L. Meagher 
Anna Blanche McGill 
Mary Catherine Crowley 
Katherine Tynan-Hinkson 
Sallie Margaret O’Malley 
Emma Howard Wight 


10 


ixx) PAGES 


500 ILLUSTRATIONS 


A GREAT OFFKR 

THE LIFE OF OUR LORD 

' AND - ■■■■■ ■- 

SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST 

AND OF HIS VIRGIN MOTHER MARY 

FROM THE ORIGINAL OF 

Iv. C. BUSINGKR, L.L..ID. 

BY 

Rev. RICHARD BRENNAN, LL.D. 


Quarto, half morocco, full gilt side, gilt edges, 900 pages, 
500 illustrations in the text and 32 full-page 
illustrations by 
M. KEUBRSTTBIN 


PRICE, NET $10.00 

Easy Payment Plan 
$1.00 DOWN, $1.00 A MONTH 

Mail $1.00 to-day and the book will be shipped to you 
immediately. Then you pay $1.00 a month 
till $10.00 is paid. 

This is not only a Life of Christ and of His Blessed 
Mother, but also a carefully condensed history of God’s 
Church from Adam to the end of the world in type, prophecy 
and fulfilment, it contains a popular dogmatic theology and 
a real catechism of perseverance, filled with spiritual food 
for the soul. 


11 


The Best Stories and Articles 


Over 1000 Illustrations a Year 


BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 

The Popular Catholic Family Monthly 

Recommended by yo Archbishops and Bishops of the United States 
SUBSCRIPTION, $2.00 A YEAR 

What Benziger’s Magazine gives its Readers : 

Fifty complete stories by the best writers — equal to a book of 300 
pages selling at $1.25. 

Three complete novels of absorbing interest — equal to three books 
selling at $1.25 each. 

Over 1000 beautiful illustrations. 

Twenty-five large reproductions of celebrated paintings. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on travel and ad- 
venture; on the manners, customs and home-life of peoples; 
on the haunts and habits of animal life, etc. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on our country; 
historic events, times, places, important industries. 

Twenty articles — equal to a book of 150 pages — on the fine arts; 
celebrated artists and their paintings, sculpture, music, etc., and 
nature studies. 

Twelve pages of games and amusements for in and out of doors. 

Fifty pages of fashions, fads and fancies, gathered at home and 
abroad, helpful hints for home workers, household column, 
cooking receipts, etc. 

“Current Events,” the important happenings over the whole world, 
described with pen and pictures. 

Prize competitions, in which valuable prizes are offered. 

This is what is given in a Single Year of Benziger’s Magazine 

Send $2.00 now and become a subscriber to the best and handsomest 
Catholic Magazine published. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

New York: Cincinnati: Chicago: 

36-38 Barclay Street. 343 Main Street. 211-213 Madison Street. 


12 


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